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Project Gutenberg's Apology, Crito, and Phaedo of Socrates, by Plato

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Title: Apology, Crito, and Phaedo of Socrates

Author: Plato

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Language: English

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<div class="titlepage"><a class='pagenumber' name='page1' id=
'page1'></a> <a name='apology_crito_and_phaedo_of_socrates' id=
'apology_crito_and_phaedo_of_socrates'></a>

<h1><span class='smalltext'>Plato's</span><br>
 Apology, Crito And Ph&aelig;do<br>
 Of<br>
 Socrates.</h1>

<br class="noncss">


<div class='titleelement'>Literally Translated By

<div class='contributor'>Henry Cary, M.A.,</div>

<span class="emphasis">Worcester College, Oxford</span></div>

<br class="noncss">


<div class='titleelement'>With An Introduction By

<div class='contributor'>Edward Brooks, jr.</div>
</div>

<hr>
</div>

<div class="toc"><a class='pagenumber' name='page2' id='page2'></a>
<a class='pagenumber' name='page3' id='page3'></a> <a name=
'contents' id='contents'></a>

<h2>Contents.</h2>

<div class="tocitem"><a href='#introduction'>Introduction</a></div>

<div class="tocitem"><a href='#the_apology_of_socrates'>The Apology
Of Socrates</a></div>

<div class="tocitem"><a href=
'#introduction_to_the_crito'>Introduction to the crito</a></div>

<div class="tocitem"><a href=
'#crito_or_the_duty_of_a_citizen'>Crito; Or, The Duty Of A
Citizen</a></div>

<div class="tocitem"><a href=
'#introduction_to_the_phaedo'>Introduction To The
Ph&aelig;do</a></div>

<div class="tocitem"><a href=
'#phaedo_or_the_immortality_of_the_soul'>Ph&aelig;do; Or, The
Immortality Of The Soul</a></div>

<hr>
</div>

<div class="introduction"><a class='pagenumber' name='page4' id=
'page4'></a> <a class='pagenumber' name='page5' id='page5'></a> <a
class='pagenumber' name='page6' id='page6'></a> <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page7' id='page7'></a> <a name=
'introduction'></a>

<h2>Introduction.</h2>

<p>Of all writers of speculative philosophy, both ancient and
modern, there is probably no one who has attained so eminent a
position as Plato. What Homer was to Epic poetry, what Cicero and
Demosthenes were to oratory, and what Shakespeare was to the drama
of England, Plato was to ancient philosophy, not unapproachable nor
unapproached, but possessing an inexplicable but unquestioned
supremacy.</p>

<p>The authentic records of his life are meagre, and much that has
been written concerning him is of a speculative nature. He was born
at Athens in the year 427 B.C. His father's name was Ariston, and
his mother's family, which claimed its descent from Solon, included
among its members many Athenian notables, among whom was Oritias,
one of the thirty tyrants.</p>

<p>In his early youth Plato applied himself to poetry and painting,
both of which pursuits he relinquished to become the disciple and
follower of Socrates. It is said that his name was originally
Aristocles, but that it was changed to Plato on account of the
breadth of his shoulders and forehead. He is also said to have been
an expert wrestler and to have taken part in several important
battles.</p>

<p>He was the devoted friend and pupil of Socrates, and during the
imprisonment of his master he attended him <a class='pagenumber'
name='page8' id='page8'></a> constantly, and committed to writing
his last discourses on the immortality of the soul.</p>

<p>After the death of Socrates it is supposed that Plato took
refuge with Euclides in Megara, and subsequently extended his
travels into Magna Graecia and Egypt.</p>

<p>Upon his return to Athens he taught those who came to him for
instruction in the grove named Academus, near the Cephisus, and
thus founded the first great philosophical school, over which he
continued to preside until the day of his death. Above the entrance
to this grove was inscribed the legend: "Let no one ignorant of
geometry enter here." Here he was attended by persons of every
description, among the more illustrious of whom were Aristotle,
Lycurgus, Demosthenes and Isocrates.</p>

<p>There is a story to the effect that Plato three times visited
Sicily, once upon the invitation of the elder Dionysius, and twice
at the earnest solicitations of the younger. The former he is said
to have so seriously offended as to cause the tyrant to have him
seized on his return home and sold as a slave, from which state of
bondage he was, however, released by Anicerius of Cyrene.</p>

<p>The people of his time thought more of him than they did of all
their other philosophers, and called him the Divine Plato. So great
was the regard and veneration for him that it was considered better
to err with Plato than be right with any one else.</p>

<p>The writings of Plato are numerous, and most of them are in the
form of dialogues. The following pages contain translations of
three of his works, viz.: "The Apologia," "The Crito" and "The
Ph&aelig;do," all of <a class='pagenumber' name='page9' id=
'page9'></a>which have reference to the trial, imprisonment and
death of Socrates.</p>

<p>"The Apologia" represents Socrates on trial for his life,
undertaking his own defence, though unaccustomed to the language of
the courts, the occasion being, as he says, the first time he has
ever been before a court of justice, though seventy years of age.
Plato was present at the trial, and no doubt gives us the very
arguments used by the accused. Two charges were brought against
Socrates&mdash;one that he did not believe in the gods recognized
by the State, the other that he had corrupted the Athenian youth by
his teachings. Socrates does not have recourse to the ordinary
methods adopted by orators on similar occasions. He prefers to
stand upon his own integrity and innocence, uninfluenced by the
fear of that imaginary evil, death. He, therefore, does not firmly
grapple with either of the charges preferred against him. He
neither denies nor confesses the first accusation, but shows that
in several instances he conformed to the religious customs of his
country, and that he believes in God more than he fears man. The
second charge he meets by a cross-examination of his accuser,
Melitus, whom he reduces to the dilemma of charging him with
corrupting the youth designedly, which would be absurd, or with
doing so undesignedly, for which he could not be liable to
punishment.</p>

<p>His defence, however, avails him nothing, and he is condemned by
the judges to die by drinking the poisonous hemlock. In the closing
part of "The Apologia" Socrates is represented as commenting upon
the sentence which has been passed upon him, and as expressing his
<a class='pagenumber' name='page10' id='page10'></a>belief that in
going to his death he is only passing to a better and a happier
life.</p>

<p>In "The Crito" Socrates is represented in conversation with a
friend of his named Crito, who had been present at his trial, and
who had offered to assist Socrates in paying a fine, had a fine
been the sentence imposed. Crito visits Socrates in his confinement
to bring to him the intelligence that the ship, the arrival of
which was to be the signal for his death upon the following day,
would arrive forthwith, and to urge him to adopt the means of
escape which had already been prepared. Socrates promises to follow
the advice of Crito if, upon a full discussion of the matter, it
seems right to do so. In the conversation which ensues Socrates
argues that it is wrong to return evil for evil and that the
obligations which a citizen owes to his State are more binding than
those which a child owes his parents or a slave his master, and,
therefore, it is his duty to submit to the laws of Athens at
whatever cost to himself. Crito has no answer to make to this
argument, and Socrates thereupon decides to submit to his fate.</p>

<p>Plato is said to have had two objects in writing this dialogue:
First, to acquit Socrates of the charge of corrupting the Athenian
youth; and, second, to establish the fact that it is necessary
under all circumstances to submit to the established laws of his
country.</p>

<p>"The Ph&aelig;do" relates the manner in which Socrates spent the
last day of his life and the circumstances attending his death. He
is visited by a number of his friends, among whom are Ph&aelig;do,
Simmias and Crito. When his friends arrive they find him sitting
upon a bed <a class='pagenumber' name='page11' id='page11'></a>
rubbing his legs, which have just been released from bonds. He
remarks upon the unaccountable connection between pleasure and
pain, and from this the conversation gradually turns to a
consideration of the question of the immortality of the soul. He
convinces his listeners of the pre-existence of the soul; but they
are still skeptical as to its immortality, urging that its
pre-existence and the fact that it is more durable than the body
does not preclude the possibility of its being mortal. Socrates,
however, argues that contraries cannot exist in the same thing at
the same time, as, for example, the same object cannot partake of
both magnitude and littleness at the same time. In like manner,
heat while it is heat can never admit the idea of cold. Life and
death are contraries and can never coexist; but wherever there is
life there is soul, so that the soul contains that which is
contrary to death and can never admit death; consequently the soul
is immortal.</p>

<p>Having convinced his listeners, Socrates bathes and takes leave
of his children and the women of his family. Thereupon the officer
appears and tells him it is time for him to drink the poison. At
this his friends commence to weep and are rebuked by Socrates for
their weakness. He drinks the poison calmly and without hesitation,
and then begins to walk about, still conversing with his friends.
His limbs soon grow stiff and heavy and he lays himself down upon
his back. His last words are: "Crito, we owe a cock to
&AElig;sculapius; pay it, therefore, and do not neglect it."</p>

<hr>
</div>

<div class="book"><a class='pagenumber' name='page12' id=
'page12'></a> <a class='pagenumber' name='page13' id='page13'></a>
<a name='the_apology_of_socrates'></a>

<h2>The Apology Of Socrates.</h2>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec1" name=
"apology_sec1"></a>I know not, O Athenians! how far you have been
influenced by my accusers for my part, in listening to them I
almost forgot myself, so plausible were their arguments however, so
to speak, they have said nothing true. But of the many falsehoods
which they uttered I wondered at one of them especially, that in
which they said that you ought to be on your guard lest you should
be deceived by me, as being eloquent in speech. For that they are
not ashamed of being forthwith convicted by me in fact, when I
shall show that I am not by any means eloquent, this seemed to me
the most shameless thing in them, unless indeed they call him
eloquent who speaks the truth. For, if they mean this, then I would
allow that I am an orator, but not after their fashion for they, as
I affirm, have said nothing true, but from me you shall hear the
whole truth. Not indeed, Athenians, arguments highly wrought, as
theirs were, with choice phrases and expressions, nor adorned, but
you shall hear a speech uttered without premeditation in such words
as first present themselves. For I am confident that what I say
will be just, and let none of you expect otherwise, for surely it
would not become my time of life to come before you like a youth
with a got up speech. Above all things, <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page14' id='page14'></a>therefore, I beg and implore this of you,
O Athenians! if you hear me defending myself in the same language
as that in which I am accustomed to speak both in the forum at the
counters, where many of you have heard me, and elsewhere, not to be
surprised or disturbed on this account. For the case is this: I now
for the first time come before a court of justice, though more than
seventy years old; I am therefore utterly a stranger to the
language here. As, then, if I were really a stranger, you would
have pardoned me if I spoke in the language and the manner in which
I had been educated, so now I ask this of you as an act of justice,
as it appears to me, to disregard the manner of my speech, for
perhaps it may be somewhat worse, and perhaps better, and to
consider this only, and to give your attention to this, whether I
speak what is just or not; for this is the virtue of a judge, but
of an orator to speak the truth.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec2" name=
"apology_sec2">2</a>. First, then, O Athenians! I am right in
defending myself against the first false accusations alleged
against me, and my first accusers, and then against the latest
accusations, and the latest accusers. For many have been accusers
of me to you, and for many years, who have asserted nothing true,
of whom I am more afraid than of Anytus and his party, although
they too are formidable; but those are still more formidable,
Athenians, who, laying hold of many of you from childhood, have
persuaded you, and accused me of what is not true: "that there is
one Socrates, a wise man, who occupies himself about celestial
matters, and has explored every thing under the earth, and makes
the worse appear the better reason." Those, O Athenians! who have
spread abroad this report are my formidable accusers; for they who
hear them think that such as search into these things do not
believe that there are gods. In the next place, these accusers are
numerous, and have accused me now for <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page15' id='page15'></a>a long time; moreover, they said these
things to you at that time of life in which you were most
credulous, when you were boys and some of you youths, and they
accused me altogether in my absence, when there was no one to
defend me. But the most unreasonable thing of all is, that it is
not possible to learn and mention their names, except that one of
them happens to be a comic poet.<a id="footnotetag1" name=
"footnotetag1" href="#footnote1"><sup>1</sup></a> Such, however,
as, influenced by envy and calumny, have persuaded you, and those
who, being themselves persuaded, have persuaded others, all these
are most difficult to deal with; for it is not possible to bring
any of them forward here, nor to confute any; but it is altogether
necessary to fight, as it were with a shadow, in making my defense,
and to convict when there is no one to answer. Consider, therefore,
as I have said, that my accusers are twofold, some who have lately
accused me, and others long since, whom I have made mention of; and
believe that I ought to defend myself against these first; for you
heard them accusing me first, and much more than these last.</p>

<p>Well. I must make my defense, then, O Athenians! and endeavor in
this so short a space of time to remove from your minds the calumny
which you have long entertained. I wish, indeed, it might be so, if
it were at all better both for you and me, and that in making my
defense I could effect something more advantageous still: I think,
however, that it will be difficult, and I am not entirely ignorant
what the difficulty is. Nevertheless, let this turn out as may be
pleasing to God, I must obey the law and make my defense.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec3" name=
"apology_sec3">3</a>. Let us, then, repeat from the beginning what
the accusation is from which the calumny against me has arisen, <a
class='pagenumber' name='page16' id='page16'></a>and relying on
which Melitus has preferred this indictment against me. Well. What,
then, do they who charge me say in their charge? For it is
necessary to read their deposition as of public accusers. "Socrates
acts wickedly, and is criminally curious in searching into things
under the earth, and in the heavens, and in making the worse appear
the better cause, and in teaching these same things to others."
Such is the accusation: for such things you have yourselves seen in
the comedy of Aristophanes, one Socrates there carried about,
saying that he walks in the air, and acting many other
buffooneries, of which I understand nothing whatever. Nor do I say
this as disparaging such a science, if there be any one skilled in
such things, only let me not be prosecuted by Melitus on a charge
of this kind; but I say it, O Athenians! because I have nothing to
do with such matters. And I call upon most of you as witnesses of
this, and require you to inform and tell each other, as many of you
as have ever heard me conversing; and there are many such among
you. Therefore tell each other, if any one of you has ever heard me
conversing little or much on such subjects. And from this you will
know that other things also, which the multitude assert of me, are
of a similar nature.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec4" name=
"apology_sec4">4</a>. However not one of these things is true; nor,
if you have heard from any one that I attempt to teach men, and
require payment, is this true. Though this, indeed, appears to me
to be an honorable thing, if one should be able to instruct men,
like Gorgias the Leontine, Prodicus the Cean, and Hippias the
Elean. For each of these, O Athenians! is able, by going through
the several cities, to persuade the young men, who can attach
themselves gratuitously to such of their own fellow-citizens as
they please, to abandon their fellow-citizens and associate with
them, giving <a class='pagenumber' name='page17' id=
'page17'></a>them money and thanks besides. There is also another
wise man here, a Parian, who, I hear, is staying in the city. For I
happened to visit a person who spends more money on the sophists
than all others together: I mean Callias, son of Hipponicus. I
therefore asked him, for he has two sons, "Callias," I said, "if
your two sons were colts or calves, we should have had to choose a
master for them, and hire a person who would make them excel in
such qualities as belong to their nature; and he would have been a
groom or an agricultural laborer. But now, since your sons are men,
what master do you intend to choose for them? Who is there skilled
in the qualities that become a man and a citizen? For I suppose you
must have considered this, since you have sons. Is there any one,"
I said, "or not?" "Certainly," he answered. "Who is he?" said I,
"and whence does he come? and on what terms does he teach?" He
replied, "Evenus the Parian, Socrates, for five min&aelig;." And I
deemed Evenus happy, if he really possesses this art, and teaches
admirably. And I too should think highly of myself, and be very
proud, if I possessed this knowledge, but I possess it not, O
Athenians.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec5" name=
"apology_sec5">5</a>. Perhaps, one of you may now object: "But,
Socrates, what have you done, then? Whence have these calumnies
against you arisen? For surely if you had not busied yourself more
than others, such a report and story would never have got abroad,
unless you had done something different from what most men do. Tell
us, therefore, what it is, that we may not pass a hasty judgment on
you." He who speaks thus appears to me to speak justly, and I will
endeavor to show you what it is that has occasioned me this
character and imputation. Listen, then: to some of you perhaps I
shall appear to jest, yet be assured that I shall tell you the
whole truth. For I, O Athenians! have acquired this character <a
class='pagenumber' name='page18' id='page18'></a>through nothing
else than a certain wisdom. Of what kind, then, is this wisdom?
Perhaps it is merely human wisdom. For in this, in truth, I appear
to be wise. They probably, whom I have just now mentioned,
possessed a wisdom more than human, otherwise I know not what to
say about it; for I am not acquainted with it, and whosoever says I
am, speaks falsely, and for the purpose of calumniating me. But, O
Athenians! do not cry out against me, even though I should seem to
you to speak somewhat arrogantly. For the account which I am going
to give you is not my own; but I shall refer to an authority whom
you will deem worthy of credit. For I shall adduce to you the god
at Delphi as a witness of my wisdom, if I have any, and of what it
is. You doubtless know Ch&aelig;repho: he was my associate from
youth, and the associate of most of you; he accompanied you in your
late exile, and returned with you. You know, then, what kind of a
man Ch&aelig;repho was, how earnest in whatever he undertook.
Having once gone to Delphi, he ventured to make the following
inquiry of the oracle (and, as I said, O Athenians! do not cry
out), for he asked if there was any one wiser than I. The Pythian
thereupon answered that there was not one wiser; and of this, his
brother here will give you proofs, since he himself is dead.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec6" name=
"apology_sec6">6</a>. Consider, then, why I mention these things:
it is because I am going to show you whence the calumny against me
arose. For when I heard this, I reasoned thus with myself, What
does the god mean? What enigma is this? For I am not conscious to
myself that I am wise, either much or little. What, then, does he
mean by saying that I am the wisest? For assuredly he does not
speak falsely: that he could not do. And for a long time I was in
doubt what he meant; afterward, with considerable difficulty, I had
recourse <a class='pagenumber' name='page19' id='page19'></a>to the
following method of searching out his meaning. I went to one of
those who have the character of being wise, thinking that there, if
anywhere, I should confute the oracle, and show in answer to the
response that This man is wiser than I, though you affirmed that I
was the wisest. Having, then, examined this man (for there is no
occasion to mention his name; he was, however, one of our great
politicians, in examining whom I felt as I proceed to describe, O
Athenians!), having fallen into conversation with him, this man
appeared to be wise in the opinion of most other men, and
especially in his own opinion, though in fact he was not so. I
thereupon endeavored to show him that he fancied himself to be
wise, but really was not. Hence I became odious, both to him and to
many others who were present. When I left him, I reasoned thus with
myself: I am wiser than this man, for neither of us appears to know
anything great and good; but he fancies he knows something,
although he knows nothing; whereas I, as I do not know anything, so
I do not fancy I do. In this trifling particular, then, I appear to
be wiser than he, because I do not fancy I know what I do not know.
After that I went to another who was thought to be wiser than the
former, and formed the very same opinion. Hence I became odious to
him and to many others.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec7" name=
"apology_sec7">7</a>. After this I went to others in turn,
perceiving indeed, and grieving and alarmed, that I was making
myself odious; however, it appeared necessary to regard the oracle
of the god as of the greatest moment, and that, in order to
discover its meaning, I must go to all who had the reputation of
possessing any knowledge. And by the dog, O Athenians! for I must
tell you the truth, I came to some such conclusion as this: those
who bore the highest reputation appeared to me to be most
deficient, in my researches in obedience <a class='pagenumber'
name='page20' id='page20'></a>to the god, and others who were
considered inferior more nearly approaching to the possession of
understanding. But I must relate to you my wandering, and the
labors which I underwent, in order that the oracle might prove
incontrovertible. For after the politicians I went to the poets, as
well the tragic as the dithyrambic and others, expecting that here
I should in very fact find myself more ignorant than they. Taking
up, therefore, some of their poems, which appeared to me most
elaborately finished, I questioned them as to their meaning, that
at the same time I might learn something from them. I am ashamed, O
Athenians! to tell you the truth; however, it must be told. For, in
a word, almost all who were present could have given a better
account of them than those by whom they had been composed. I soon
discovered this, therefore, with regard to the poets, that they do
not effect their object by wisdom, but by a certain natural
inspiration, and under the influence of enthusiasm, like prophets
and seers; for these also say many fine things, but they understand
nothing that they say. The poets appeared to me to be affected in a
similar manner; and at the same time I perceived that they
considered themselves, on account of their poetry, to be the wisest
of men in other things, in which they were not. I left them,
therefore, under the persuasion that I was superior to them, in the
same way that I was to the politicians.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec8" name=
"apology_sec8">8</a>. At last, therefore, I went to the artisans.
For I was conscious to myself that I knew scarcely anything, but I
was sure that I should find them possessed of much beautiful
knowledge. And in this I was not deceived; for they knew things
which I did not, and in this respect they were wiser than I. But, O
Athenians! even the best workmen appeared to me to have fallen into
the same error as the poets; for each, because he excelled in the
practice of his art, thought <a class='pagenumber' name='page21'
id='page21'></a>that he was very wise in other most important
matters, and this mistake of theirs obscured the wisdom that they
really possessed. I therefore asked myself, in behalf of the
oracle, whether I should prefer to continue as I am, possessing
none, either of their wisdom or their ignorance, or to have both as
they have. I answered, therefore, to myself and to the oracle, that
it was better for me to continue as I am.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec9" name=
"apology_sec9">9</a>. From this investigation, then, O Athenians!
many enmities have arisen against me, and those the most grievous
and severe, so that many calumnies have sprung from them, and among
them this appellation of being wise; for those who are from time to
time present think that I am wise in those things, with respect to
which I expose the ignorance of others. The god, however, O
Athenians! appears to be really wise, and to mean this by his
oracle: that human wisdom is worth little or nothing; and it is
clear that he did not say this to Socrates, but made use of my
name, putting me forward as an example, as if he had said, that man
is the wisest among you, who, like Socrates, knows that he is in
reality worth nothing with respect to wisdom. Still, therefore, I
go about and search and inquire into these things, in obedience to
the god, both among citizens and strangers, if I think any one of
them is wise; and when he appears to me not to be so, I take the
part of the god, and show that he is not wise. And, in consequence
of this occupation, I have no leisure to attend in any considerable
degree to the affairs of the state or my own; but I am in the
greatest poverty through my devotion to the service of the god.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec10" name=
"apology_sec10">10</a>. In addition to this, young men, who have
much leisure and belong to the wealthiest families, following me of
their own accord, take great delight in hearing men put to the
test, and often imitate me, and themselves attempt to <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page22' id='page22'></a>put others to the test;
and then, I think, they find a great abundance of men who fancy
they know something, although they know little or nothing. Hence
those who are put to the test by them are angry with me, and not
with them, and say that "there is one Socrates, a most pestilent
fellow, who corrupts the youth." And when any one asks them by
doing or teaching what, they have nothing to say, for they do not
know; but, that they may not seem to be at a loss, they say such
things as are ready at hand against all philosophers; "that he
searches into things in heaven and things under the earth, that he
does not believe there are gods, and that he makes the worse appear
the better reason." For they would not, I think, be willing to tell
the truth that they have been detected in pretending to possess
knowledge, whereas they know nothing. Therefore, I think, being
ambitions and vehement and numerous, and speaking systematically
and persuasively about me, they have filled your ears, for a long
time and diligently calumniating me. From among these, Melitus,
Anytus and Lycon have attacked me; Melitus being angry on account
of the poets, Anytus on account of the artisans and politicians,
and Lycon on account of the rhetoricians. So that, as I said in the
beginning, I should wonder if I were able in so short a time to
remove from your minds a calumny that has prevailed so long. This,
O Athenians! is the truth; and I speak it without concealing or
disguising anything from you, much or little; though I very well
know that by so doing I shall expose myself to odium. This,
however, is a proof that I speak the truth, and that this is the
nature of the calumny against me, and that these are its causes.
And if you will investigate the matter, either now or hereafter,
you will find it to be so.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec11" name=
"apology_sec11">11</a>. With respect, then, to the charges which my
first accusers <a class='pagenumber' name='page23' id=
'page23'></a>have alleged against me, let this be a sufficient
apology to you. To Melitus, that good and patriotic man, as he
says, and to my later accusers, I will next endeavor to give an
answer; and here, again, as there are different accusers, let us
take up their deposition. It is pretty much as follows: "Socrates,"
it says, "acts unjustly in corrupting the youth, and in not
believing in those gods in whom the city believes, but in other
strange divinities." Such is the accusation; let us examine each
particular of it. It says that I act unjustly in corrupting the
youth. But I, O Athenians! say that Melitus acts unjustly, because
he jests on serious subjects, rashly putting men upon trial, under
pretense of being zealous and solicitous about things in which he
never at any time took any concern. But that this is the case I
will endeavor to prove to you.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec12" name=
"apology_sec12">12</a>. Come, then, Melitus, tell me, do you not
consider it of the greatest importance that the youth should be
made as virtuous as possible?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> I do.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Well, now, tell the
judges who it is that makes them better, for it is evident that you
know, since it concerns you so much; for, having detected me in
corrupting them, as you say, you have cited me here, and accused
me: come, then, say, and inform the judges who it is that makes
them better. Do you see, Melitus, that you are silent, and have
nothing to say? But does it not appear to you to be disgraceful,
and a sufficient proof of what I say, that you never took any
concern about the matter? But tell me, friend, who makes them
better?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> The laws.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> I do not ask this, most
excellent sir, but what man, who surely must first know this very
thing, the laws?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> These, Socrates, the
judges.</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page24' id='page24'></a><span class=
"speakername">Socr.</span> How say you, Melitus? Are these able to
instruct the youth, and make them better?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> Certainly.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Whether all, or some of
them, and others not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> All.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> You say well, by Juno!
and have found a great abundance of those that confer benefit. But
what further? Can these hearers make them better, or not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> They, too, can.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> And what of the
senators?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> The senators, also.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> But, Melitus, do those
who attend the public assemblies corrupt the younger men? or do
they all make them better?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> They too.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> All the Athenians,
therefore, as it seems, make them honorable and good, except me;
but I alone corrupt them. Do you say so?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> I do assert this very
thing.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> You charge me with great
ill-fortune. But answer me: does it appear to you to be the same,
with respect to horses? Do all men make them better, and is there
only some one that spoils them? or does quite the contrary of this
take place? Is there some one person who can make them better, or
very few; that is, the trainers? But if the generality of men
should meddle with and make use of horses, do they spoil them? Is
not this the case, Melitus, both with respect to horses and all
other animals? It certainly is so, whether you and Anytus deny it
or not. For it would be a great good-fortune for the youth if only
one person corrupted, and the rest benefited them. However,
Melitus, you have sufficiently shown that you never bestowed any
care upon youth; and you clearly evince your own negligence, <a
class='pagenumber' name='page25' id='page25'></a>in that you have
never paid any attention to the things with respect to which you
accuse me.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec13" name=
"apology_sec13">13</a>. Tell us further, Melitus, in the name of
Jupiter, whether is it better to dwell with good or bad citizens?
Answer, my friend; for I ask you nothing difficult. Do not the bad
work some evil to those that are continually near them, but the
good some good?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> Certainly.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Is there any one that
wishes to be injured rather than benefited by his associates?
Answer, good man; for the law requires you to answer. Is there any
one who wishes to be injured?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> No, surely.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Come, then, whether do
you accuse me here, as one that corrupts the youth, and makes them
more depraved, designedly or undesignedly?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> Designedly, I say.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> What, then, Melitus, are
you at your time of life so much wiser than I at my time of life,
as to know that the evil are always working some evil to those that
are most near to them, and the good some good; but I have arrived
at such a pitch of ignorance as not to know that if I make any one
of my associates depraved, I shall be in danger of receiving some
evil from him; and yet I designedly bring about this so great evil,
as you say? In this I can not believe you, Melitus, nor do I think
would any other man in the world. But either I do not corrupt the
youth, or, if I do corrupt them, I do it undesignedly: so that in
both cases you speak falsely. But if I corrupt them undesignedly,
for such involuntary offenses it is not usual to accuse one here,
but to take one apart, and teach and admonish one. For it is
evident that if I am taught, I shall cease doing what I do
undesignedly. But you shunned me, and were not willing <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page26' id='page26'></a>to associate with and
instruct me; but you accuse me here, where it is usual to accuse
those who need punishment, and not instruction.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec14" name=
"apology_sec14">14</a>. Thus, then, O Athenians! this now is clear
that I have said; that Melitus never paid any attention to these
matters, much or little. However, tell us, Melitus, how you say I
corrupt the youth? Is it not evidently, according to the indictment
which you have preferred, by teaching them not to believe in the
gods in whom the city believes, but in other strange deities? Do
you not say that, by teaching these things, I corrupt the
youth?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> Certainly I do say so.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> By those very gods,
therefore, Melitus, of whom the discussion now is, speak still more
clearly both to me and to these men. For I can not understand
whether you say that I teach them to believe that there are certain
gods (and in that case I do believe that there are gods, and am not
altogether an atheist, nor in this respect to blame), not, however,
those which the city believes in, but others; and this it is that
you accuse me of, that I introduce others. Or do you say outright
that I do not myself believe that there are gods, and that I teach
others the same?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> I say this: that you do
not believe in any gods at all.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> O wonderful Melitus, how
come you to say this? Do I not, then, like the rest of mankind,
believe that the sun and moon are gods?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> No, by Jupiter, O judges!
for he says that the sun is a stone, and the moon an earth.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> You fancy that you are
accusing Anaxagoras, my dear Melitus, and thus you put a slight on
these men, and suppose them to be so illiterate as not to know that
the books of Anaxagoras of Clazomene are full of such assertions.
<a class='pagenumber' name='page27' id='page27'></a>And the young,
moreover, learn these things from me, which they might purchase for
a drachma, at most, in the orchestra, and so ridicule Socrates, if
he pretended they were his own, especially since they are so
absurd? I ask then, by Jupiter, do I appear to you to believe that
there is no god?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> No, by Jupiter, none
whatever.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> You say what is
incredible, Melitus, and that, as appears to me, even to yourself.
For this man, O Athenians! appears to me to be very insolent and
intemperate and to have preferred this indictment through downright
insolence, intemperance, and wantonness. For he seems, as it were,
to have composed an enigma for the purpose of making an experiment.
Whether will Socrates the wise know that I am jesting, and
contradict myself, or shall I deceive him and all who hear me? For,
in my opinion, he clearly contradicts himself in the indictment, as
if he should say, Socrates is guilty of wrong in not believing that
there are gods, and in believing that there are gods. And this,
surely, is the act of one who is trifling.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec15" name=
"apology_sec15">15</a>. Consider with me now, Athenians, in what
respect he appears to me to say so. And do you, Melitus, answer me;
and do ye, as I besought you at the outset, remember not to make an
uproar if I speak after my usual manner.</p>

<p>Is there any man, Melitus, who believes that there are human
affairs, but does not believe that there are men? Let him answer,
judges, and not make so much noise. Is there any one who does not
believe that there are horses, but that there are things pertaining
to horses? or who does not believe that there are pipers, but that
there are things pertaining to pipes? There is not, O best of men!
for since you are not willing to answer, I say it to you and to all
here present. But answer to this at least: is there any one who <a
class='pagenumber' name='page28' id='page28'></a>believes that
there are things relating to demons, but does not believe that
there are demons?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> There is not.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> How obliging you are in
having hardly answered; though compelled by these judges! You
assert, then, that I do believe and teach things relating to
demons, whether they be new or old; therefore, according to your
admission, I do believe in things relating to demons, and this you
have sworn in the bill of indictment. If, then, I believe in things
relating to demons, there is surely an absolute necessity that I
should believe that there are demons. Is it not so? It is. For I
suppose you to assent, since you do not answer. But with respect to
demons, do we not allow that they are gods, or the children of
gods? Do you admit this or not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Mel.</span> Certainly.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Since, then, I allow that
there are demons, as you admit, if demons are a kind of gods, this
is the point in which I say you speak enigmatically and divert
yourself in saying that I do not allow there are gods, and again
that I do allow there are, since I allow that there are demons? But
if demons are the children of gods, spurious ones, either from
nymphs or any others, of whom they are reported to be, what man can
think that there are sons of gods, and yet that there are not gods?
For it would be just as absurd as if any one should think that
there are mules, the offspring of horses and asses, but should not
think there are horses and asses. However, Melitus, it can not be
otherwise than that you have preferred this indictment for the
purpose of trying me, or because you were at a loss what real crime
to allege against me; for that you should persuade any man who has
the smallest degree of sense that the same person can think that
there are things relating to demons and to <a class='pagenumber'
name='page29' id='page29'></a>gods, and yet that there are neither
demons, nor gods, not heroes, is utterly impossible.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec16" name=
"apology_sec16">16</a>. That I am not guilty, then, O Athenians!
according to the indictment of Melitus, appears to me not to
require a lengthened defense; but what I have said is sufficient.
And as to what I said at the beginning, that there is a great
enmity toward me among the multitude, be assured it is true. And
this it is which will condemn me, if I am condemned, not Melitus,
nor Anytus, but the calumny and envy of the multitude, which have
already condemned many others, and those good men, and will, I
think, condemn others also; for there is no danger that it will
stop with me.</p>

<p>Perhaps, however, some one may say, "Are you not ashamed,
Socrates, to have pursued a study from which you are now in danger
of dying?" To such a person I should answer with good reason, You
do not say well, friend, if you think that a man, who is even of
the least value, ought to take into the account the risk of life or
death, and ought not to consider that alone when be performs any
action, whether he is acting justly or unjustly, and the part of a
good man or bad man. For, according to your reasoning, all those
demi-gods that died at Troy would be vile characters, as well all
the rest as the son of Thetis, who so far despised danger in
comparison of submitting to disgrace, that when his mother, who was
a goddess, spoke to him, in his impatience to kill Hector,
something to this effect, as I think,<a id="footnotetag2" name=
"footnotetag2" href="#footnote2"><sup>2</sup></a> "My son, if you
revenge the death of your friend Patroclus, and slay Hector, you
will yourself die, for," she said, "death awaits you immediately
after Hector;" but he, on hearing this, despised death and danger,
and dreading much more to live as a coward, and not avenge his <a
class='pagenumber' name='page30' id='page30'></a>friend, said, "May
I die immediately when I have inflicted punishment on the guilty,
that I may not stay here an object of ridicule, by the curved
ships, a burden to the ground?"&mdash;do you think that he cared
for death and danger? For thus it is, O Athenians! in truth:
wherever any one has posted himself, either thinking it to be
better, or has been posted by his chief, there, as it appears to
me, he ought to remain and meet danger, taking no account either of
death or anything else in comparison with disgrace.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec17" name=
"apology_sec17">17</a>. I then should be acting strangely, O
Athenians! if, when the generals whom you chose to command me
assigned me my post at Potid&aelig;a, at Amphipolis, and at Delium,
I then remained where they posted me, like any other person, and
encountered the danger of death; but when the deity, as I thought
and believed, assigned it as my duty to pass my life in the study
of philosophy, and examining myself and others, I should on that
occasion, through fear of death or any thing else whatsoever,
desert my post, strange indeed would it be; and then, in truth, any
one might justly bring me to trial, and accuse me of not believing
in the gods, from disobeying the oracle, fearing death, and
thinking myself to be wise when I am not. For to fear death, O
Athenians! is nothing else than to appear to be wise, without being
so; for it is to appear to know what one does not know. For no one
knows but that death is the greatest of all good to man; but men
fear it, as if they well knew that it is the greatest of evils. And
how is not this the most reprehensible ignorance, to think that one
knows what one does not know? But I, O Athenians! in this, perhaps,
differ from most men; and if I should say that I am in any thing
wiser than another, it would be in this, that not having a
competent knowledge of the things in Hades, I also think that I
have not such knowledge. But to act unjustly, and to disobey my
superior, <a class='pagenumber' name='page31' id=
'page31'></a>whether God or man, I know is evil and base. I shall
never, therefore, fear or shun things which, for aught I know,
maybe good, before evils which I know to be evils. So that, even if
you should now dismiss me, not yielding to the instances of Anytus,
who said that either I should not<a id="footnotetag3" name=
"footnotetag3" href="#footnote3"><sup>3</sup></a> appear here at
all, or that, if I did appear, it was impossible not to put me to
death, telling you that if I escaped, your sons, studying what
Socrates teaches, would all be utterly corrupted; if you should
address me thus, "Socrates, we shall not now yield to Anytus, but
dismiss you, on this condition, however, that you no longer
persevere in your researches nor study philosophy; and if hereafter
you are detected in so doing, you shall die"&mdash;if, as I said,
you should dismiss, me on these terms, I should say to you, "O
Athenians! I honor and love you; but I shall obey God rather than
you; and so long as I breathe and am able, I shall not cease
studying philosophy, and exhorting you and warning any one of you I
may happen to meet, saying, as I have been accustomed to do: 'O
best of men! seeing you are an Athenian, of a city the most
powerful and most renowned for wisdom and strength, are you not
ashamed of being careful for riches, how you may acquire them in
greatest abundance, and for glory, and honor, but care not nor take
any thought for wisdom and truth, and for your soul, how it maybe
made most perfect?'" And if any one of you should question my
assertion, and affirm that he does care for these things, I shall
not at once let him go, nor depart, but I shall question him, sift
and prove him. And if he should appear to me not to possess virtue,
but to pretend that he does, I shall reproach him for that he sets
the least value on things of the greatest worth, but the highest on
things that are worthless. Thus I shall act to all <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page32' id='page32'></a>whom I meet, both young
and old, stranger and citizen, but rather to you, my
fellow-citizens, because ye are more nearly allied to me. For be
well assured, this the deity commands. And I think that no greater
good has ever befallen you in the city than my zeal for the service
of the god. For I go about doing nothing else than persuading you,
both young and old, to take no care either for the body, or for
riches, prior to or so much as for the soul, how it may be made
most perfect, telling you that virtue does not spring from riches,
but riches and all other human blessings, both private and public,
from virtue. If, then, by saying these things, I corrupt the youth,
these things must be mischievous; but if any one says that I speak
other things than these, he misleads you.<a id="footnotetag4" name=
"footnotetag4" href="#footnote4"><sup>4</sup></a> Therefore I must
say, O Athenians! either yield to Anytus, or do not, either dismiss
me or not, since I shall not act otherwise, even though I must die
many deaths.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec18" name=
"apology_sec18">18</a>. Murmur not, O Athenians! but continue to
attend to my request, not to murmur at what I say, but to listen,
for, as I think, you will derive benefit from listening. For I am
going to say other things to you, at which, perhaps, you will raise
a clamor; but on no account do so. Be well assured, then, if you
put me to death, being such a man as I say I am, you will not
injure me more than yourselves. For neither will Melitus nor Anytus
harm me; nor have they the power; for I do not think that it is
possible for a better man to be injured by a worse. He may perhaps
have me condemned to death, or banished, or deprived of civil
rights; and he or others may perhaps consider these as mighty
evils; I, how ever, do not consider them so, but that it is much
more so to do what he is now doing, to endeavor to put a man to
death unjustly. Now, therefore, O Athenians! <a class='pagenumber'
name='page33' id='page33'></a>I am far from making a defense on my
behalf, as any one might think, but I do so on your own behalf,
lest by condemning me you should offend at all with respect to the
gift of the deity to you. For, if you should put me to death, you
will not easily find such another, though it may be ridiculous to
say so, altogether attached by the deity to this city as to a
powerful and generous horse, somewhat sluggish from his size, and
requiring to be roused by a gad-fly; so the deity appears to have
united me, being such a person as I am, to the city, that I may
rouse you, and persuade and reprove every one of you, nor ever
cease besetting you throughout the whole day. Such another man, O
Athenians! will not easily be found; therefore, if you will take my
advice, you will spare me. But you, perhaps, being irritated like
drowsy persons who are roused from sleep, will strike me, and,
yielding to Anytus, will unthinkingly condemn me to death; and then
you will pass the rest of your life in sleep, unless the deity,
caring for you, should send some one else to you. But that I am a
person who has been given by the deity to this city, you may
discern from hence; for it is not like the ordinary conduct of men,
that I should have neglected all my own affairs, and suffered my
private interest to be neglected for so many years, and that I
should constantly attend to your concerns, addressing myself to
each of you separately, like a father, or elder brother, persuading
you to the pursuit of virtue. And if I had derived any profit from
this course, and had received pay for my exhortations, there would
have been some reason for my conduct; but now you see yourselves
that my accusers, who have so shamelessly calumniated me in
everything else, have not had the impudence to charge me with this,
and to bring witnesses to prove that I ever either exacted or
demanded any reward. And I think I <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page34' id='page34'></a>produce a sufficient proof that I speak
the truth, namely, my poverty.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec19" name=
"apology_sec19">19</a>. Perhaps, however, it may appear absurd that
I, going about, thus advise you in private and make myself busy,
but never venture to present myself in public before your
assemblies and give advice to the city. The cause of this is that
which you have often and in many places heard me mention; because I
am moved by a certain divine and spiritual influence, which also
Melitus, through mockery, has set out in the indictment. This began
with me from childhood, being a kind of voice which, when present,
always diverts me from what I am about to do, but never urges me
on. This it is which opposed my meddling in public politics; and it
appears to me to have opposed me very properly. For be well
assured, O Athenians! if I had long since attempted to intermeddle
with politics, I should have perished long ago, and should not have
at all benefited you or myself. And be not angry with me for
speaking the truth. For it is not possible that any man should be
safe who sincerely opposes either you, or any other multitude, and
who prevents many unjust and illegal actions from being committed
in a city; but it is necessary that he who in earnest contends for
justice, if he will be safe for but a short time, should live
privately, and take no part in public affairs.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec20" name=
"apology_sec20">20</a>. I will give you strong proofs of this, not
words, but what you value, facts. Hear, then, what has happened to
me, that you may know that I would not yield to any one contrary to
what is just, through fear of death, at the same time by not
yielding I must perish. I shall tell you what will be displeasing
and wearisome,<a id="footnotetag5" name="footnotetag5" href=
"#footnote5"><sup>5</sup></a> yet true. For I, O <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page35' id='page35'></a>Athenians! never bore
any other magisterial office in the city, but have been a senator:
and our Antiochean tribe happened to supply the Prytanes when you
chose to condemn in a body the ten generals who had not taken off
those that perished in the sea-fight, in violation of the law, as
you afterward all thought. At that time I alone of the Prytanes
opposed your doing anything contrary to the laws, and I voted
against you; and when the orators were ready to denounce me, and to
carry me before a magistrate, and you urged and cheered them on, I
thought I ought rather to meet the danger with law and justice on
my side, than through fear of imprisonment or death, to take part
with you in your unjust designs. And this happened while the city
was governed by a democracy. But when it became an oligarchy, the
Thirty, having sent for me with four others to the Tholus, ordered
us to bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis, that he might be put
to death; and they gave many similar orders to many others, wishing
to involve as many as they could in guilt. Then, however, I showed,
not in word but in deed, that I did not care for death, if the
expression be not too rude, in the smallest degree; but that all my
care was to do nothing unjust or unholy. For that government,
strong as it was, did not so overawe me as to make me commit an
unjust action; but when we came out from the Tholus, the four went
to Salamis, and brought back Leon; but I went away home. And
perhaps for this I should have been put to death, if that
government had not been speedily broken up. And of this you can
have many witnesses.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec21" name=
"apology_sec21">21</a>. Do you think, then, that I should have
survived so <a class='pagenumber' name='page36' id=
'page36'></a>many years if I had engaged in public affairs, and,
acting as becomes a good man, had aided the cause of justice, and,
as I ought, had deemed this of the highest importance? Far from it,
O Athenians! nor would any other man have done so. But I, through
the whole of my life, if I have done anything in public, shall be
found to be a man, and the very same in private, who has never made
a concession to any one contrary to justice, neither to any other,
nor to any one of these whom my calumniators say are my disciples.
I, however, was never the preceptor of any one; but if any one
desired to hear me speaking, and to see me busied about my own
mission, whether he were young or old, I never refused him. Nor do
I discourse when I receive money, and not when I do not receive
any, but I allow both rich and poor alike to question me, and, if
any one wishes it, to answer me and hear what I have to say. And
for these, whether any one proves to be a good man or not, I cannot
justly be responsible, because I never either promised them any
instruction or taught them at all. But if any one says that he has
ever learned or heard anything from me in private which all others
have not, be well assured that he does not speak the truth.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec22" name=
"apology_sec22">22</a>. But why do some delight to spend so long a
time with me? Ye have heard, O Athenians! I have told you the whole
truth, that they delight to hear those closely questioned who think
that they are wise but are not; for this is by no means
disagreeable. But this duty, as I say, has been enjoined me by the
deity, by oracles, by dreams, and by every mode by which any other
divine decree has ever enjoined anything to man to do. These
things, O Athenians! are both true, and easily confuted if not
true. For if I am now corrupting some of the youths, and have
already corrupted others, it were fitting, surely, that if any of
them, <a class='pagenumber' name='page37' id='page37'></a>having
become advanced in life, had discovered that I gave them bad advice
when they were young, they should now rise up against me, accuse
me, and have me punished; or if they were themselves unwilling to
do this, some of their kindred, their fathers, or brothers, or
other relatives, if their kinsman have ever sustained any damage
from me, should now call it to mind. Many of them, however, are
here present, whom I see: first, Crito, my contemporary and
fellow-burgher, father of this Critobulus; then Lysanias of
Sphettus, father of this &AElig;schines; again, Antiphon of
Cephisus, father of Epigenes. There are those others, too, whose
brothers maintained the same intimacy with me, namely, Nicostratus,
son of Theodotus, brother of Theodotus&mdash;Theodotus indeed is
dead, so that he could not deprecate his brother's
proceedings&mdash;and Paralus here, son of Demodocus, whose brother
was Theages; and Adimantus, son of Ariston, whose brother is this
Plato; and &AElig;antodorus, whose brother is this Apollodorus. I
could also mention many others to you, some one of whom certainly
Melitus ought to have adduced in his speech as a witness. If,
however, he then forgot to do so, let him now adduce them; I give
him leave to do so, and let him say it, if he has anything of the
kind to allege. But, quite contrary to this, you will find, O
Athenians! all ready to assist me, who have corrupted and injured
their relatives, as Melitus and Anytus say. For those who have been
themselves corrupted might perhaps have some reason for assisting
me; but those who have not been corrupted, men now advanced in
life, their relatives, what other reason can they have for
assisting me, except that right and just one, that they know that
Melitus speaks falsely, and that I speak the truth.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec23" name=
"apology_sec23">23</a>. Well, then, Athenians, these are pretty
much the things I have to say in my defense, and others perhaps of
<a class='pagenumber' name='page38' id='page38'></a>the same kind.
Perhaps, however, some among you will be indignant on recollecting
his own case, if he, when engaged in a cause far less than this,
implored and besought the judges with many tears, bringing forward
his children in order that he might excite their utmost compassion,
and many others of his relatives and friends, whereas I do none of
these things, although I may appear to be incurring the extremity
of danger. Perhaps, therefore, some one, taking notice of this, may
become more determined against me, and, being enraged at this very
conduct of mine, may give his vote under the influence of anger.
If, then, any one of you is thus affected&mdash;I do not, however,
suppose that there is&mdash;but if there should be, I think I may
reasonably say to him: "I, too, O best of men, have relatives; for,
to make use of that saying of Homer, I am not sprung from an oak,
nor from a rock, but from men, so that I, too, O Athenians! have
relatives, and three sons, one now grown up, and two boys: I shall
not, however, bring any one of them forward and implore you to
acquit me." Why, then, shall I not do this? Not from contumacy, O
Athenians! nor disrespect toward you. Whether or not I am undaunted
at the prospect of death is another question; but, out of regard to
my own character, and yours, and that of the whole city, it does
not appear to me to be honorable that I should do any thing of this
kind at my age, and with the reputation I have, whether true or
false. For it is commonly agreed that Socrates in some respects
excels the generality of men. If, then, those among you who appear
to excel either in wisdom, or fortitude, or any other virtue
whatsoever, should act in such a manner as I have often seen some
when they have been brought to trial, it would be shameful, who
appearing indeed to be something, have conducted themselves in a
surprising manner, as thinking they should suffer something <a
class='pagenumber' name='page39' id='page39'></a>dreadful by dying,
and as if they would be immortal if you did not put them to death.
Such men appear to me to bring disgrace on the city, so that any
stranger might suppose that such of the Athenians as excel in
virtue, and whom they themselves choose in preference to themselves
for magistracies and other honors, are in no respect superior to
women. For these things, O Athenians! neither ought we to do who
have attained to any height of reputation, nor, should we do them,
ought you to suffer us; but you should make this manifest, that you
will much rather condemn him who introduces these piteous dramas,
and makes the city ridiculous, than him who quietly awaits your
decision.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec24" name=
"apology_sec24">24</a>. But, reputation apart, O Athenians! it does
not appear to me to be right to entreat a judge, or to escape by
entreaty; but one ought to inform and persuade him. For a judge
does not sit for the purpose of administering justice out of favor,
but that he may judge rightly, and he is sworn not to show favor to
whom he pleases, but that he will decide according to the laws. It
is, therefore, right that neither should we accustom you, nor
should you accustom yourselves, to violate your oaths; for in so
doing neither of us would act righteously. Think not then, O
Athenians! that I ought to adopt such a course toward you as I
neither consider honorable, nor just, nor holy, as well, by
Jupiter! on any other occasion, and now especially when I am
accused of impiety by this Melitus. For clearly, if I should
persuade you, and by my entreaties should put a constraint on you
who are bound by an oath, I should teach you to think that there
are no gods, and in reality, while making my defense, should accuse
myself of not believing in the gods. This, however, is far from
being the case; for I believe, O Athenians! as none of my accusers
do, and I leave it to you and <a class='pagenumber' name='page40'
id='page40'></a>to the deity to judge concerning me in such way as
will be best both for me and for you.</p>

<p>[Socrates here concludes his defense, and, the votes being
taken, he is declared guilty by a majority of voices. He thereupon
resumes his address.]</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec25" name=
"apology_sec25">25</a>. That I should not be grieved, O Athenians!
at what has happened&mdash;namely, that you have condemned
me&mdash;as well many other circumstances concur in bringing to
pass; and, moreover this, that what has happened has not happened
contrary to my expectation; but I much rather wonder at the number
of votes on either side. For I did not expect that I should be
condemned by so small a number, but by a large majority; but now,
as it seems, if only three more votes had changed sides, I should
have been acquitted. So far as Melitus is concerned, as it appears
to me, I have been already acquitted; and not only have I been
acquitted, but it is clear to every one that had not Anytus and
Lycon come forward to accuse me, he would have been fined a
thousand drachmas, for not having obtained a fifth part of the
votes.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec26" name=
"apology_sec26">26</a>. The man, then, awards me the penalty of
death. Well. But what shall I, on my part, O Athenians! award
myself? Is it not clear that it will be such as I deserve? What,
then, is that? Do I deserve to suffer, or to pay a fine? for that I
have purposely during my life not remained quiet, but neglecting
what most men seek after, money-making, domestic concerns, military
command, popular oratory, and, moreover, all the magistracies,
conspiracies, and cabals that are met with in the city, thinking
that I was in reality too upright a man to be safe if I took part
in such things, I therefore did not apply myself to those pursuits,
by attending to which I should have been of no service either to
you or to myself; but in order to confer the greatest benefit on
each of you privately, as I affirm, I thereupon applied myself to
that <a class='pagenumber' name='page41' id='page41'></a>object,
endeavoring to persuade every one of you not to take any care of
his own affairs before he had taken care of himself in what way he
may become the best and wisest, nor of the affairs of the city
before he took care of the city itself; and that he should attend
to other things in the same manner. What treatment, then, do I
deserve, seeing I am such a man? Some reward, O Athenians! if, at
least, I am to be estimated according to my real deserts; and,
moreover, such a reward as would be suitable to me. What, then, is
suitable to a poor man, a benefactor, and who has need of leisure
in order to give you good advice? There is nothing so suitable, O
Athenians! as that such a man should be maintained in the
Prytaneum, and this much more than if one of you had been
victorious at the Olympic games in a horserace, or in the two or
four horsed chariot race: for such a one makes you appear to be
happy, but I, to be so; and he does not need support, but I do. If,
therefore, I must award a sentence according to my just deserts, I
award this, maintenance in the Prytaneum.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec27" name=
"apology_sec27">27</a>. Perhaps, however, in speaking to you thus,
I appear to you to speak in the same presumptuous manner as I did
respecting commiseration and entreaties; but such is not the case,
O Athenians! it is rather this: I am persuaded that I never
designedly injured any man, though I can not persuade you of this,
for we have conversed with each other but for a short time. For if
there were the same law with you as with other men, that in capital
cases the trial should list not only one day, but many, I think you
would be persuaded; but it is not easy in a short time to do away
with, great calumnies. Being persuaded, then, that I have injured
no one, I am far from intending to injure myself, and of
pronouncing against myself that I am deserving of punishment, and
from awarding myself any thing of the kind. <a class='pagenumber'
name='page42' id='page42'></a>Through fear of what? lest I should
suffer that which Melitus awards me, of which I say I know not
whether it he good or evil? Instead of this, shall I choose what I
well know to be evil, and award that? Shall I choose imprisonment?
And why should I live in prison, a slave to the established
magistracy, the Eleven? Shall I choose a fine, and to be imprisoned
until I have paid it? But this is the same as that which I just now
mentioned, for I have not money to pay it. Shall I, then, award
myself exile? For perhaps you would consent to this award. I should
indeed be very fond of life, O Athenians! if I were so devoid of
reason as not to be able to reflect that you, who are my
fellow-citizens, have been unable to endure my manner of life and
discourses, but they have become so burdensome and odious to you
that you now seek to be rid of them: others, however, will easily
bear them. Far from it, O Athenians! A fine life it would be for me
at my age to go out wandering, and driven from city to city, and so
to live. For I well know that, wherever I may go, the youth will
listen to me when I speak, as they do here. And if I repulse them,
they will themselves drive me out, persuading the elders; and if I
do not repulse them, their fathers and kindred will banish me on
their account.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec28" name=
"apology_sec28">28</a>. Perhaps, however, some one will say, Can
you not, Socrates, when you have gone from us, live a silent and
quiet life? This is the most difficult thing of all to persuade
some of you. For if I say that that would be to disobey the deity,
and that, therefore, it is impossible for me to live quietly, you
would not believe me, thinking I spoke ironically. If, on the other
hand, I say that this is the greatest good to man, to discourse
daily on virtue, and other things which you have heard me
discussing, examining both myself and others, but that a life
without investigation is <a class='pagenumber' name='page43' id=
'page43'></a>not worth living for, still less would you believe me
if I said this. Such, however, is the case, as I affirm, O
Athenians! though it is not easy to persuade you. And at the same
time I am not accustomed to think myself deserving of any ill. If,
indeed, I were rich, I would amerce myself in such a sum as I
should be able to pay; for then I should have suffered no harm, but
now&mdash;for I can not, unless you are willing to amerce me in
such a sum as I am able to pay. But perhaps I could pay you a mina
of silver: in that sum, then, I amerce myself. But Plato here, O
Athenians! and Crito Critobulus, and Apollodorus bid me amerce
myself in thirty min&aelig;, and they offer to be sureties. I
amerce myself, then, to you in that sum; and they will be
sufficient sureties for the money.</p>

<p>[The judges now proceeded to pass the sentence, and condemned
Socrates to death; whereupon he continued:]</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec29" name=
"apology_sec29">29</a>. For the sake of no long space of time, O
Athenians! you will incur the character and reproach at the hands
of those who wish to defame the city, of having put that wise man,
Socrates, to death. For those who wish to defame you will assert
that I am wise, though I am not. If, then, you had waited for a
short time, this would have happened of its own accord; for observe
my age, that it is far advanced in life, and near death. But I say
this not to you all, but to those only who have condemned me to
die. And I say this, too, to the same persons. Perhaps you think, O
Athenians! that I have been convicted through the want of
arguments, by which I might have persuaded you, had I thought it
right to do and say any thing, so that I might escape punishment.
Far otherwise: I have been convicted through want indeed, yet not
of arguments, but of audacity and impudence, and of the inclination
to say such things to you as would have been most agreeable for you
to hear, <a class='pagenumber' name='page44' id='page44'></a>had I
lamented and bewailed and done and said many other things unworthy
of me, as I affirm, but such as you are accustomed to hear from
others. But neither did I then think that I ought, for the sake of
avoiding danger, to do any thing unworthy of a freeman, nor do I
now repent of having so defended myself; but I should much rather
choose to die, having so defended myself, than to live in that way.
For neither in a trial nor in battle is it right that I or any one
else should employ every possible means whereby he may avoid death;
for in battle it is frequently evident that a man might escape
death by laying down his arms, and throwing himself on the mercy of
his pursuers. And there are many other devices in every danger, by
which to avoid death, if a man dares to do and say every thing. But
this is not difficult, O Athenians! to escape death; but it is much
more difficult to avoid depravity, for it runs swifter than death.
And now I, being slow and aged, am overtaken by the slower of the
two; but my accusers, being strong and active, have been overtaken
by the swifter, wickedness. And now I depart, condemned by you to
death; but they condemned by truth, as guilty of iniquity and
injustice: and I abide my sentence, and so do they. These things,
perhaps, ought so to be, and I think that they are for the
best.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec30" name=
"apology_sec30">30</a>. In the next place, I desire to predict to
you who have condemned me, what will be your fate; for I am now in
that condition in which men most frequently prophesy&mdash;namely,
when they are about to die. I say, then, to you, O Athenians! who
have condemned me to death, that immediately after my death a
punishment will overtake you, far more severe, by Jupiter! than
that which you have inflicted on me. For you have done this,
thinking you should be freed from the necessity of giving an
account of your lives. The very contrary, however, as I affirm,
will happen to you. <a class='pagenumber' name='page45' id=
'page45'></a>Your accusers will be more numerous, whom I have now
restrained, though you did not perceive it; and they will be more
severe, inasmuch as they are younger, and you will be more
indignant. For if you think that by putting men to death you will
restrain any one from upbraiding you because you do not live well,
you are much mistaken; for this method of escape is neither
possible nor honorable; but that other is most honorable and most
easy, not to put a check upon others, but for a man to take heed to
himself how he may be most perfect. Having predicted thus much to
those of you who have condemned me, I take my leave of you.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec31" name=
"apology_sec31">31</a>. But with you who have voted for my
acquittal I would gladly hold converse on what has now taken place,
while the magistrates are busy, and I am not yet carried to the
place where I must die. Stay with me, then, so long, O Athenians!
for nothing hinders our conversing with each other, while we are
permitted to do so; for I wish to make known to you, as being my
friends, the meaning of that which has just now befallen me. To me,
then, O my judges! and in calling you judges I call you
rightly&mdash;a strange thing has happened. For the wonted
prophetic voice of my guardian deity on every former occasion, even
in the most trifling affairs, opposed me if I was about to do any
thing wrong; but now that has befallen me which ye yourselves
behold, and which any one would think, and which is supposed to be
the extremity of evil; yet neither when I departed from home in the
morning did the warning of the god oppose me, nor when I came up
here to the place of trial, nor in my address when I was about to
say any thing; yet on other occasions it has frequently restrained
me in the midst of speaking. But now it has never, throughout this
proceeding, opposed me, either in what I did or said. What, then,
do I suppose to be the cause of this? I will tell you: what <a
class='pagenumber' name='page46' id='page46'></a>has befallen me
appears to be a blessing; and it is impossible that we think
rightly who suppose that death is an evil. A great proof of this to
me is the fact that it is impossible but that the accustomed signal
should have opposed me, unless I had been about to meet with some
good.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec32" name=
"apology_sec32">32</a>. Moreover, we may hence conclude that there
is great hope that death is a blessing. For to die is one of two
things: for either the dead may be annihilated, and have no
sensation of any thing whatever; or, as it is said, there are a
certain change and passage of the soul from one place to another.
And if it is a privation of all sensation, as it were a sleep in
which the sleeper has no dream, death would be a wonderful gain.
For I think that if any one, having selected a night in which he
slept so soundly as not to have had a dream, and having compared
this night with all the other nights and days of his life, should
be required, on consideration, to say how many days and nights he
had passed better and more pleasantly than this night throughout
his life, I think that not only a private person, but even the
great king himself, would find them easy to number, in comparison
with other days and nights. If, therefore, death is a thing of this
kind, I say it is a gain; for thus all futurity appears to be
nothing more than one night. But if, on the other hand, death is a
removal from hence to another place, and what is said be true, that
all the dead are there, what greater blessing can there be than
this, my judges? For if, on arriving at Hades, released from these
who pretend to be judges, one shall find those who are true judges,
and who are said to judge there, Minos and Rhadamanthus,
&AElig;acus and Triptolemus, and such others of the demi-gods as
were just during their own life, would this be a sad removal? At
what price would you not estimate a conference with Orpheus and
Mus&aelig;us, Hesiod <a class='pagenumber' name='page47' id=
'page47'></a>and Homer? I indeed should be willing to die often, if
this be true. For to me the sojourn there would be admirable, when
I should meet with Palamedes, and Ajax, son of Telamon, and any
other of the ancients who has died by an unjust sentence. The
comparing my sufferings with theirs would, I think, be no
unpleasing occupation. But the greatest pleasure would be to spend
my time in questioning and examining the people there as I have
done those here, and discovering who among them is wise, and who
fancies himself to be so, but is not. At what price, my judges,
would not any one estimate the opportunity of questioning him who
led that mighty army against Troy, or Ulysses, or Sisyphus, or ten
thousand others whom one might mention both men and
women&mdash;with whom to converse and associate, and to question
them, would be an inconceivable happiness? Surely for that the
judges there do not condemn to death; for in other respects those
who live there are more happy than those who are here, and are
henceforth immortal, if, at least, what is said be true.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="apology_sec33" name=
"apology_sec33">33</a>. You, therefore, O my judges! ought to
entertain good hopes with respect to death, and to meditate on this
one truth, that to a good man nothing is evil, neither while living
nor when dead, nor are his concerns neglected by the gods. And what
has befallen me is not the effect of chance; but this is clear to
me, that now to die, and be freed from my cares is better for me On
this account the warning in no way turned me aside; and I bear no
resentment toward those who condemned me, or against my accusers,
although they did not condemn and accuse me with this intention,
but thinking to injure me: in this they deserve to be blamed.</p>

<p>Thus much, however, I beg of them. Punish my sons when they grow
up, O judges! paining them as I have pained you, if they appear to
you to care for riches or anything <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page48' id='page48'></a>else before virtue; and if they think
themselves to be something when they are nothing, reproach them as
I have done you, for not attending to what they ought, and for
conceiving themselves to be something when they are worth nothing.
If ye do this, both I and my sons shall have met with just
treatment at your hands.</p>

<p>But it is now time to depart&mdash;for me to die, for you to
live. But which of us is going to a better state is unknown to
every one but God.</p>

<h3>Footnotes</h3>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote1" name="footnote1" href=
"#footnotetag1">1</a>: Aristophanes.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote2" name="footnote2" href=
"#footnotetag2">2</a>: "Iliad," lib. xviii. ver. 94, etc.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote3" name="footnote3" href=
"#footnotetag3">3</a>: See the "Crito," sec. <a href=
"#crito_sec5">5</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote4" name="footnote4" href=
"#footnotetag4">4</a>: <span class=
"greek">&Omicron;&upsilon;&delta;&epsilon;&nu;
&lambda;&epsilon;&gamma;&epsilon;&iota;</span>, literally, "he says
nothing:" <span class="french">on se trompe, ou l'on vous
impose</span>, <span class="emphasis">Cousin</span>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote5" name="footnote5" href=
"#footnotetag5">5</a>: But for the authority of Stallbaum, I should
have translated <span class=
"greek">&delta;&iota;&kappa;&alpha;&nu;&iota;&kappa;&alpha;</span>
"forensic;" that is, such arguments as an advocate would use in a
court of justice.</div>

<hr>
</div>

<div class="introduction"><a name='introduction_to_the_crito' id=
'introduction_to_the_crito'></a><a class='pagenumber' name='page49'
id='page49'></a>

<h2>Introduction To The Crito.</h2>

<p>It has been remarked by Stallbaum that Plato had a twofold
design in this dialogue&mdash;one, and that the primary one, to
free Socrates from the imputation of having attempted to corrupt
the Athenian youth; the other, to establish the principle that
under all circumstances it is the duty of a good citizen to obey
the laws of his country. These two points, however, are so closely
interwoven with each other, that the general principle appears only
to be illustrated by the example of Socrates.</p>

<p>Crito was one of those friends of Socrates who had been present
at his trial, and had offered to assist in paying a fine, had a
fine been imposed instead of the sentence of death. He appears to
have frequently visited his friend in prison after his
condemnation; and now, having obtained access to his cell very
early in the morning, finds him composed in a quiet sleep. He
brings intelligence that the ship, the arrival of which would be
the signal for his death on the following day, is expected to
arrive forthwith, and takes occasion to entreat Socrates to make
his escape, the means of which were already prepared. Socrates
thereupon, having promised to follow the advice of Crito if, after
the matter had been fully discussed, it should appear to be right
to do so, proposes to consider the duty of a citizen toward his
country; and having established the divine principle that it is
wrong to return evil for evil, goes on to show that the obligations
of a citizen to his country are even more binding <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page50' id='page50'></a>than those of a child to
its parent, or a slave to his master, and that therefore it is his
duty to obey the established laws, at whatever cost to himself.</p>

<p>At length Crito admits that he has no answer to make, and
Socrates resolves to submit himself to the will of Providence.</p>

<hr>
</div>

<div class="book"><a name='crito_or_the_duty_of_a_citizen' id=
'crito_or_the_duty_of_a_citizen'></a><a class='pagenumber' name=
'page51' id='page51'></a>

<h2>Crito;<br>
 Or,<br>
 The Duty Of A Citizen.</h2>

<p>SOCRATES, CRITO.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec1" name=
"crito_sec1"></a><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Why have
you come at this hour, Crito? Is it not very early?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> It is.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> About what time?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Scarce day-break.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> I wonder how the keeper
of the prison came to admit you.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> He is familiar with me,
Socrates, from my having frequently come hither; and he is under
some obligations to me.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Have you just now come,
or some time since?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> A considerable time
since.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Why, then, did you not
wake me at once, instead of sitting down by me in silence?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> By Jupiter! Socrates, I
should not myself like to be so long awake, and in such affliction.
But I have been for some time wondering at you, perceiving how
sweetly you slept; and I purposely did not awake you, that you
might pass your time as pleasantly as possible. And, indeed, I <a
class='pagenumber' name='page52' id='page52'></a>have often before
throughout your whole life considered you happy in your
disposition, but far more so in the present calamity, seeing how
easily and meekly you bear it.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> However, Crito, it would
be disconsonant for a man at my time of life to repine because he
must needs die.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> But others, Socrates, at
your age have been involved in similar calamities, yet their age
has not hindered their repining at their present fortune.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> So it is. But why did you
come so early?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Bringing sad tidings,
Socrates, not sad to you, as it appears, but to me, and all your
friends, sad and heavy, and which I, I think, shall bear worst of
all.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> What tidings? Has the
ship<a id="footnotetag6" name="footnotetag6" href=
"#footnote6"><sup>6</sup></a> arrived from Delos, on the arrival of
which I must die?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> It has not yet arrived,
but it appears to me that it will come to-day, from what certain
persons report who have come from Sunium,<a id="footnotetag7" name=
"footnotetag7" href="#footnote7"><sup>7</sup></a> and left it
there. It is clear, therefore, from these messengers, that it will
come to day, and consequently it will be necessary, Socrates, for
you to die to-morrow.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec2" name=
"crito_sec2">2</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span> But with
good fortune, Crito, and if so it please the gods, so be it. I do
not think, however, that it will come to day.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Whence do you form this
conjecture?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> I will tell you. I must
die on the day after that on which the ship arrives.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> So they say<a id=
"footnotetag8" name="footnotetag8" href=
"#footnote8"><sup>8</sup></a> who have the control of these
things.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> I do not think, then,
that it will come to-day, but to-morrow. I conjecture this from a
dream which I had <a class='pagenumber' name='page53' id=
'page53'></a>this very night, not long ago, and you seem very
opportunely to have refrained from waking me.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> But what was this
dream?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> A beautiful and majestic
woman, clad in white garments seemed to approach me, and to call to
me and say, "Socrates, three days hence you will reach fertile
Pythia"<a id="footnotetag9" name="footnotetag9" href=
"#footnote9"><sup>9</sup></a>.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> What a strange dream,
Socrates!</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Very clear, however, as
it appears to me, Crito.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec3" name=
"crito_sec3">3</a>. <span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Very much
so, as it seems. But, my dear Socrates, even now be persuaded by
me, and save yourself. For if you die, not only a single calamity
will befall me, but, besides being deprived of such a friend as I
shall never meet with again, I shall also appear to many who do not
know you and me well, when I might have saved you had I been
willing to spend my money, to have neglected to do so. And what
character can be more disgraceful than this&mdash;to appear to
value one's riches more than one's friends? For the generality of
men will not be persuaded that you were unwilling to depart hence,
when we urged you to it.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> But why, my dear Crito,
should we care so much for the opinion of the many? For the most
worthy men, whom we ought rather to regard, will think that matters
have transpired as they really have.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Yet you see, Socrates,
that it is necessary to attend to the opinion of the many. For the
very circumstances of the present case show that the multitude are
able to effect not only the smallest evils, but even the greatest,
if any one is calumniated to them.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Would, O Crito that the
multitude could effect the greatest evils, that they might also
effect the greatest good, for then it would be well. But now they
can do neither; <a class='pagenumber' name='page54' id=
'page54'></a>for they can make a man neither wise nor foolish; but
they do whatever chances.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec4" name=
"crito_sec4">4</a>. <span class="speakername">Cri.</span> So let it
be, then. But answer me this, Socrates: are you not anxious for me
and other friends, lest, if you should escape from hence, informers
should give us trouble, as having secretly carried you off, and so
we should be compelled either to lose all our property, or a very
large sum, or to suffer something else besides this? For, if you
fear any thing of the kind, dismiss your fears; for we are
justified in running the risk to save you&mdash;and, if need be,
even a greater risk than this. But be persuaded by me, and do not
refuse.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> I am anxious about this,
Crito, and about many other things.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Do not fear this, however;
for the sum is not large on receipt of which certain persons are
willing to save you, and take you hence. In the next place, do you
not see how cheap these informers are, so that there would be no
need of a large sum for them? My fortune is at your service,
sufficient, I think, for the purpose; then if, out of regard to me,
you do not think right to spend my money, these strangers here are
ready to spend theirs. One of them, Simmias the Theban, has brought
with him a sufficient sum for the very purpose. Cebes, too, is
ready, and very many others. So that, as I said, do not, through
fears of this kind, hesitate to save yourself, nor let what you
said in court give you any trouble, that if you went from hence you
would not know what to do with yourself. For in many places, and
wherever you go, men will love you; and if you are disposed to go
to Thessaly, I have friends there who will esteem you very highly,
and will insure your safety, so that no one in Thessaly will molest
you.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec5" name=
"crito_sec5">5</a>. Moreover, Socrates, you do not appear to me to
pursue <a class='pagenumber' name='page55' id='page55'></a>a just
course in giving yourself up when you might be saved; and you press
on the very results with respect to yourself which your enemies
would press, and have pressed, in their anxiety to destroy you.
Besides this, too, you appear to me to betray your own sons, whom,
when it is in your power to rear and educate them, you will
abandon, and, so far as you are concerned, they will meet with such
a fate as chance brings them, and, as is probable, they will meet
with such things as orphans are wont to experience in a state of
orphanage. Surely one ought not to have children, or one should go
through the toil of rearing and instructing them. But you appear to
me to have chosen the most indolent course; though you ought to
have chosen such a course as a good and brave man would have done,
since you profess to have made virtue your study through the whole
of your life; so that I am ashamed both for you and for us who are
your friends, lest this whole affair of yours should seem to be the
effect of cowardice on our part&mdash;your appearing to stand your
trial in the court, since you appeared when it was in your power
not to have done so, the very manner in which the trial was
conducted, and this last circumstance, as it were, a ridiculous
consummation of the whole business; your appearing to have escaped
from us through our indolence and cowardice, who did not save you;
nor did you save yourself, when it was practicable and possible,
had we but exerted ourselves a little. Think of these things,
therefore, Socrates, and beware, lest, besides the evil <span
class="emphasis">that will result</span>, they be disgraceful both
to you and to us; advise, then, with yourself; though, indeed,
there is no longer time for advising&mdash;your resolve should be
already made. And there is but one plan; for in the following night
the whole must be accomplished. If we delay, it will be impossible
and no longer practicable. By all means, <a class='pagenumber'
name='page56' id='page56'></a>therefore, Socrates, be persuaded by
me, and on no account refuse.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec6" name=
"crito_sec6">6</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span> My dear
Crito, your zeal would be very commendable were it united with
right principle; otherwise, by how much the more earnest it is, by
so much is it the more sad. We must consider, therefore, whether
this plan should be adopted or not. For I not now only, but always,
am a person who will obey nothing within me but reason, according
as it appears to me on mature deliberation to be best. And the
reasons which I formerly professed I can not now reject, because
this misfortune has befallen me; but they appear to me in much the
same light, and I respect and honor them as before; so that if we
are unable to adduce any better at the present time, be assured
that I shall not give in to you, even though the power of the
multitude should endeavor to terrify us like children, by
threatening more than it does now, bonds and death, and
confiscation of property. How, therefore, may we consider the
matter most conveniently? First of all, if we recur to the argument
which you used about opinions, whether on former occasions it was
rightly resolved or not, that we ought to pay attention to some
opinions, and to others not; or whether, before it was necessary
that I should die, it was rightly resolved; but now it has become
clear that it was said idly for argument's sake, though in reality
it was merely jest and trifling. I desire then, Crito, to consider,
in common with you, whether it will appear to me in a different
light, now that I am in this condition, or the same, and whether we
shall give it up or yield to it. It was said, I think, on former
occasions, by those who were thought to speak seriously, as I just
now observed, that of the opinions which men entertain some should
be very highly esteemed and others not. By the gods! Crito, does
not this appear to you to be well said? For you, <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page57' id='page57'></a>in all human
probability, are out of all danger of dying to-morrow, and the
present calamity will not lead your judgment astray. Consider,
then; does it not appear to you to have been rightly settled that
we ought not to respect all the opinions of men, but some we
should, and others not? Nor yet the opinions of all men, but of
some we should, and of others not? What say you? Is not this
rightly resolved?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> It is.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Therefore we should
respect the good, but not the bad?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Yes.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> And are not the good
those of the wise, and the bad those of the foolish?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> How can it be
otherwise?</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec7" name=
"crito_sec7">7</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Come,
then: how, again, were the following points settled? Does a man who
practices gymnastic exercises and applies himself to them, pay
attention to the praise and censure and opinion of every one, or of
that one man only who happens to be a physician, or teacher of the
exercises?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Of that one only.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> He ought, therefore, to
fear the censures and covet the praises of that one, but not those
of the multitude.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Clearly.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> He ought, therefore, so
to practice and exercise himself, and to eat and drink, as seems
fitting to the one who presides and knows, rather than to all
others together.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> It is so.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Well, then, if he
disobeys the one, and disregards his opinion and praise, but
respects that of the multitude and of those who know nothing, will
he not suffer some evil?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> How should he not?</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page58' id='page58'></a><span class=
"speakername">Socr.</span> But what is this evil? Whither does it
tend, and on what part of him that disobeys will it fall?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Clearly on his body, for
this it ruins.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> You say well. The case is
the same, too, Crito, with all other things, not to go through them
all. With respect then, to things just and unjust, base and
honorable, good and evil, about which we are now consulting, ought
we to follow the opinion of the multitude, and to respect it, or
that of one, if there is any one who understands, whom we ought to
reverence and respect rather than all others together? And if we do
not obey him, shall we not corrupt and injure that part of
ourselves which becomes better by justice, but is ruined by
injustice? Or is this nothing?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> I agree with you,
Socrates.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec8" name=
"crito_sec8">8</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Come,
then, if we destroy that which becomes better by what is wholesome,
but is impaired by what is unwholesome, through being persuaded by
those who do not understand, can we enjoy life when that is
impaired? And this is the body we are speaking of, is it not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Yes.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Can we, then, enjoy life
with a diseased and impaired body?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> By no means.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> But can we enjoy life
when that is impaired which injustice ruins but justice benefits?
Or do we think that to be of less value than the body, whatever
part of us it may be, about which injustice and justice are
concerned'</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> By no means.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> But of more value?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Much more.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> We must not then, my
excellent friend, so much regard what the multitude will say of us,
but what he will say who understands the just and the unjust, the
one, even <a class='pagenumber' name='page59' id='page59'></a>truth
itself. So that at first you did not set out with a right
principle, when you laid it down that we ought to regard the
opinion of the multitude with respect to things just and honorable
and good, and their contraries. How ever, some one may say, are not
the multitude able to put us to death?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> This, too, is clear,
Socrates, any one might say so.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> You say truly. But, my
admirable friend, this principle which we have just discussed
appears to me to be the same as it was before<a id="footnotetag10"
name="footnotetag10" href="#footnote10"><sup>10</sup></a>. And
consider this, moreover, whether it still holds good with us or
not, that we are not to be anxious about living but about living
well.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> It does hold good.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> And does this hold good
or not, that to live well and Honorable and justly are the same
thing?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> It does.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec9" name=
"crito_sec9">9</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span> From
what has been admitted, then, this consideration arises, whether it
is just or not that I should endeavor to leave this place without
the permission of the Athenians. And should it appear to be just,
we will make the attempt, but if not, we will give it up. But as to
the considerations which you mention, of an outlay of money,
reputation, and the education of children, beware, Crito, lest such
considerations as these in reality belong to these multitudes, who
rashly put one to death, and would restore one to life, if they
could do so, without any reason at all. But we, since reason so
requires, must consider nothing else than what we just now
mentioned, whether we shall act justly in paying money and
contracting obligations to those <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page60' id='page60'></a>who will lead me hence, as well they who
lead me as we who are led hence, or whether, in truth, we shall not
act unjustly in doing all these things. And if we should appear in
so doing to be acting unjustly, observe that we must not consider
whether from remaining here and continuing quiet we must needs die,
or suffer any thing else, rather than whether we shall be acting
unjustly.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> You appear to me to speak
wisely, Socrates, but see what we are to do.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Let us consider the
matter together, my friend, and if you have any thing to object to
what I say, make good your objection, and I will yield to you, but
if not, cease, my excellent friend, to urge upon me the same thing
so often, that I ought to depart hence against the will of the
Athenians. For I highly esteem your endeavors to persuade me thus
to act, so long as it is not against my will Consider, then, the
beginning of our inquiry, whether it is stated to your entire
satisfaction, and endeavor to answer the question put to you
exactly as you think right.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> I will endeavor to do
so.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec10" name=
"crito_sec10">10</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Say
we, then, that we should on no account deliberately commit
injustice, or may we commit injustice under certain circumstances,
under others not? Or is it on no account either good or honorable
to commit injustice, as we have often agreed on former occasions,
and as we just now said? Or have all those our former admissions
been dissipated in these few days, and have we, Crito, old men as
we are, been for a long time seriously conversing with each other
without knowing that we in no respect differ from children? Or does
the case, beyond all question, stand as we then determined? Whether
the multitude allow it or not, and whether we must suffer a more
severe or a milder punishment than this, still is injustice on
every account <a class='pagenumber' name='page61' id=
'page61'></a>both evil and disgraceful to him who commits it? Do we
admit this, or not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> We do admit it.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> On no account, therefore,
ought we to act unjustly.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Surely not.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Neither ought one who is
injured to return the injury, as the multitude think, since it is
on no account right to act unjustly.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> It appears not.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> What, then? Is it right
to do evil, Crito, or not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> Surely it is not right,
Socrates.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> But what? To do evil in
return when one has been evil-entreated, is that right, or not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> By no means.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> For to do evil to men
differs in no respect from committing injustice.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> You say truly.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> It is not right,
therefore, to return an injury, or to do evil to any man, however
one may have suffered from him. But take care, Crito, that in
allowing these things you do not allow them contrary to your
opinion, for I know that to some few only these things both do
appear, and will appear, to be true. They, then, to whom these
things appear true, and they to whom they do not, have no sentiment
in common, and must needs despise each other, while they look to
each other's opinions. Consider well, then, whether you coincide
and think with me, and whether we can begin our deliberations from
this point&mdash;that it is never right either to do an injury or
to return an injury, or when one has been evil-entreated, to
revenge one's self by doing evil in return, or do you dissent from,
and not coincide in this principle? For so it appears to me, both
long since and now, but if you in any respect think otherwise, say
so and <a class='pagenumber' name='page62' id='page62'></a>inform
me. But if you persist in your former opinions, hear what
follows.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> I do persist in them, and
think with you. Speak on, then.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> I say next, then, or
rather I ask; whether when a man has promised to do things that are
just he ought to do them, or evade his promise?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> He ought to do them.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec11" name=
"crito_sec11">11</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span>
Observe, then, what follows. By departing hence without the leave
of the city, are we not doing evil to some, and that to those to
whom we ought least of all to do it, or not? And do we abide by
what we agreed on as being just, or do we not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> I am unable to answer your
question, Socrates; for I do not understand it.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Then, consider it thus.
If, while we were preparing to run away, or by whatever name we
should call it, the laws and commonwealth should come, and,
presenting themselves before us, should say, "Tell me, Socrates,
what do you purpose doing? Do you design any thing else by this
proceeding in which you are engaged than to destroy us, the laws,
and the whole city, so far as you are able? Or do you think it
possible for that city any longer to subsist, and not be subverted,
in which judgments that are passed have no force, but are set aside
and destroyed by private persons?"&mdash;what should we say, Crito,
to these and similar remonstrances? For any one, especially an
orator, would have much to say on the violation of the law, which
enjoins that judgments passed shall be enforced. Shall we say to
them that the city has done us an injustice, and not passed a right
sentence? Shall we say this, or what else?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> This, by Jupiter!
Socrates.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec12" name=
"crito_sec12">12</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span> What,
then, if the laws should say, "Socrates, <a class='pagenumber'
name='page63' id='page63'></a>was it not agreed between us that you
should abide by the judgments which the city should pronounce?" And
if we should wonder at their speaking thus, perhaps they would say,
"Wonder not, Socrates, at what we say, but answer, since you are
accustomed to make use of questions and answers. For, come, what
charge have you against us and the city, that you attempt to
destroy us? Did we not first give you being? and did not your
father, through us, take your mother to wife and beget you? Say,
then, do you find fault with those laws among us that relate to
marriage as being bad?" I should say, "I do not find fault with
them." "Do you with those that relate to your nurture when born,
and the education with which you were instructed? Or did not the
laws, ordained on this point, enjoin rightly, in requiring your
father to instruct you in music and gymnastic exercises?" I should
say, rightly. Well, then, since you were born, nurtured, and
educated through our means, can you say, first of all, that you are
not both our offspring and our slave, as well you as your
ancestors? And if this be so, do you think that there are equal
rights between us? and whatever we attempt to do to you, do you
think you may justly do to us in turn? Or had you not equal rights
with your father, or master, if you happened to have one, so as to
return what you suffered, neither to retort when found fault with,
nor, when stricken, to strike again, nor many other things of the
kind; but that with your country and the laws you may do so; so
that if we attempt to destroy you, thinking it to be just, you also
should endeavor, so far as you are able, in return, to destroy us,
the laws, and your country; and in doing this will you say that you
act justly&mdash;you who, in reality, make virtue your chief
object? Or are you so wise as not to know that one's country is
more honorable, venerable, and sacred, and more highly prized both
by <a class='pagenumber' name='page64' id='page64'></a>gods, and
men possessed of understanding, than mother and father, and all
other progenitors; and that one ought to reverence, submit to, and
appease one's country, when angry, rather than one's father; and
either persuade it or do what it orders, and to suffer quietly if
it bids one suffer, whether to be beaten, or put in bonds; or if it
sends one out to battle there to be wounded or slain, this must be
done; for justice so requires, and one must not give way, or
retreat, or leave one's post; but that both in war and in a court
of justice, and everywhere one must do what one's city and country
enjoin, or persuade it in such manner as justice allows; but that
to offer violence either to one's mother or father is not holy,
much less to one's country? What shall we say to these things,
Crito? That the laws speak the truth, or not?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> It seems so to me.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec13" name=
"crito_sec13">13</a>. <span class="speakername">Socr.</span>
"Consider, then, Socrates," the laws perhaps might say, "whether we
say truly that in what you are now attempting you are attempting to
do what is not just toward us. For we, having given you birth,
nurtured, instructed you, and having imparted to you and all other
citizens all the good in our power, still proclaim, by giving the
power to every Athenian who pleases, when he has arrived at years
of discretion, and become acquainted with the business of the
state, and us, the laws, that any one who is not satisfied with us
may take his property, and go wherever he pleases. And if any one
of you wishes to go to a colony, if he is not satisfied with us and
the city, or to migrate and settle in another country, none of us,
the laws, hinder or forbid him going whithersoever he pleases,
taking with him all his property. But whoever continues with us
after he has seen the manner in which we administer justice, and in
other respects govern the city, we now say that <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page65' id='page65'></a>he has in fact entered
into a compact with us to do what we order; and we affirm that he
who does not obey is in three respects guilty of
injustice&mdash;because he does not obey us who gave him being, and
because he does not obey us who nurtured him, and because, having
made a compact that he would obey us, he neither does so, nor does
he persuade us if we do any thing wrongly; though we propose for
his consideration, and do not rigidly command him to do what we
order, but leave him the choice of one of two things, either to
persuade us, or to do what we require, and yet he does neither of
these."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec14" name=
"crito_sec14">14</a>. "And we say that you, O Socrates! will be
subject to these charges if you accomplish your design, and that
not least of the Athenians, but most so of all." And if I should
ask, "For what reason?" they would probably justly retort on me by
saying that, among all the Athenians, I especially made this
compact with them. For they would say, "Socrates, we have strong
proof of this, that you were satisfied both with us and the city;
for, of all the Athenians, you especially would never have dwelt in
it if it had not been especially agreeable to you; for you never
went out of the city to any of the public spectacles, except once
to the Isthmian games, nor anywhere else, except on military
service, nor have you ever gone abroad as other men do, nor had you
ever had any desire to become acquainted with any other city or
other laws, but we and our city were sufficient for you; so
strongly were you attached to us, and so far did you consent to
submit to our government, both in other respects and in begetting
children in this city, in consequence of your being satisfied with
it. Moreover, in your very trial, it was in your power to have
imposed on yourself a sentence of exile, if you pleased, and might
then have done, with the consent of the city, <a class='pagenumber'
name='page66' id='page66'></a>what you now attempt against its
consent. Then, indeed, you boasted yourself as not being grieved if
you must needs die; but you preferred, as you said, death to exile.
Now, however, you are neither ashamed of those professions, nor do
you revere us, the laws, since you endeavor to destroy us, and you
act as the vilest slave would act, by endeavoring to make your
escape contrary to the conventions and the compacts by which you
engaged to submit to our government. First, then, therefore, answer
us this, whether we speak the truth or not in affirming that you
agreed to be governed by us in deed, though not in word?" What
shall we say to this, Crito? Can we do otherwise than assent?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> We must needs do so,
Socrates.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> "What else, then," they
will say, "are you doing but violating the conventions and compacts
which you made with us, though you did not enter into them from
compulsion or through deception, or from being compelled to
determine in a short time but during the space of seventy years, in
which you might have departed if you had been dissatisfied with us,
and the compacts had not appeared to you to be just? You, however,
preferred neither Laced&aelig;mon nor Crete, which you several
times said are governed by good laws, nor any other of the Grecian
or barbarian cities; but you have been less out of Athens than the
lame and the blind, and other maimed persons. So much, it is
evident, were you satisfied with the city and us, the laws, beyond
the rest of the Athenians; for who can be satisfied with a city
without laws? But now will you not abide by your compacts? You
will, if you are persuaded by us, Socrates, and will not make
yourself ridiculous by leaving the city."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec15" name=
"crito_sec15">15</a>. "For consider, by violating these compacts
and offending against any of them, what good you will do to <a
class='pagenumber' name='page67' id='page67'></a>yourself or your
friends. For that your friends will run the risk of being
themselves banished, and deprived of the rights of citizenship, or
of forfeiting their property, is pretty clear. And as for yourself,
if you should go to one of the neighboring cities, either Thebes or
Megara, for both are governed by good laws, you will go there,
Socrates, as an enemy to their polity; and such as have any regard
for their country will look upon you with suspicion, regarding you
as a corrupter of the laws; and you will confirm the opinion of the
judges, so that they will appear to have condemned you rightly, for
whose is a corrupter of the laws will appear in all likelihood to
be a corrupter of youths and weak-minded men. Will you, then, avoid
these well-governed cities, and the best-ordered men? And should
you do so, will it be worth your while to live? Or will you
approach them, and have the effrontery to converse with them,
Socrates, on subjects the same as you did here&mdash;that virtue
and justice, legal institutions and laws, should be most highly
valued by men? And do you not think that this conduct of Socrates
would be very indecorous? You must think so. But you will keep
clear of these places, and go to Thessaly, to Crito's friends, for
there are the greatest disorder and licentiousness; and perhaps
they will gladly hear you relating how drolly you escaped from
prison, clad in some dress or covered with a skin, or in some other
disguise such as fugitives are wont to dress themselves in, having
so changed your usual appearance. And will no one say that you,
though an old man, with but a short time to live, in all
probability, have dared to have such a base desire of life as to
violate the most sacred laws? Perhaps not, should you not offend
any one. But if you should, you will hear, Socrates, many things
utterly unworthy of you. You will live, too, in a state of abject
<a class='pagenumber' name='page68' id='page68'></a>dependence on
all men, and as their slave. But what will you do in Thessaly
besides feasting, as if you had gone to Thessaly to a banquet? And
what will become of those discourses about justice and all other
virtues? But do you wish to live for the sake of your children,
that you may rear and educate them? What then? Will you take them
to Thessaly, and there rear and educate them, making them aliens to
their country, that they may owe you this obligation too? Or, if
not so, being reared here, will they be better reared and educated
while you are living, though not with them, for your friends will
take care of them? Whether, if you go to Thessaly, will they take
care of them, but if you go to Hades will they not take care of
them? If, however, any advantage is to be derived from those that
say they are your friends, we must think they will."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec16" name=
"crito_sec16">16</a>. "Then, O Socrates! be persuaded by us who
have nurtured you, and do not set a higher value on your children,
or on life, or on any thing else than justice, that, when you
arrive in Hades, you may have all this to say in your defense
before those who have dominion there. For neither here in this
life, if you do what is proposed, does it appear to be better, or
more just, or more holy to yourself, or any of your friends; nor
will it be better for you when you arrive there. But now you
depart, if you do depart, unjustly treated, not by us, the laws,
but by men; but should you escape, having thus disgracefully
returned injury for injury, and evil for evil, having violated your
own compacts and conventions which you made with us, and having
done evil to those to whom you least of all should have done
it&mdash;namely, yourself, your friends, your country, and
us&mdash;both we shall be indignant with you as long as you live,
and there our brothers, the laws in Hades, will not receive you
favorably knowing that you attempted, so far as you <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page69' id='page69'></a>were able, to destroy
us. Let not Crito, then, persuade you to do what he advises, rather
than we."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="crito_sec17" name=
"crito_sec17">17</a>. These things, my dear friend Crito, be
assured, I seem to hear as the votaries of Cybele<a id=
"footnotetag11" name="footnotetag11" href=
"#footnote11"><sup>11</sup></a> seem to hear the flutes. And the
sound of these words booms in my ear, and makes me incapable of
hearing any thing else. Be sure, then, so long as I retain my
present opinions, if you should say any thing contrary to these,
you will speak in vain. If, however, you think that you can prevail
at all, say on.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Cri.</span> But, Socrates, I have
nothing to say.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Socr.</span> Desist, then, Crito, and
let us pursue this course, since this way the deity leads us.</p>

<h3>Footnotes</h3>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote6" name="footnote6" href=
"#footnotetag6">6</a>: See the Ph&aelig;do sec <a href=
"#phaedo_sec1">1</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote7" name="footnote7" href=
"#footnotetag7">7</a>: A promontory at the southern extremity of
Attica</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote8" name="footnote8" href=
"#footnotetag8">8</a>: The Eleven</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote9" name="footnote9" href=
"#footnotetag9">9</a>: See Homer's "Iliad," 1 IX, v 363</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote10" name="footnote10" href=
"#footnotetag10">10</a>: That is to say, the principle which we had
laid down in former discussions that no regard is to be had to
popular opinion, is still found to hold good.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote11" name="footnote11" href=
"#footnotetag11">11</a>: The Corybantes, priests of Cybele, who in
their solemn festivals made such a noise with flutes that the
hearers could hear no other sound.</div>

<hr>
</div>

<div class="introduction"><a name='introduction_to_the_phaedo' id=
'introduction_to_the_phaedo'></a><a class='pagenumber' name=
'page70' id='page70'></a>

<h2>Introduction To The Ph&aelig;do.</h2>

<p>This dialogue presents us with an account of the manner In which
Socrates spent the last day of his, life, and how he met his death.
The main subject is that of the soul's immortality, which Socrates
takes upon himself to prove with as much certainty as it is
possible for the human mind to arrive at. The question itself,
though none could be better suited to the occasion, arises simply
and naturally from the general conversation that precedes it.</p>

<p>When his friends visit him in the morning for the purpose of
spending this his last day with him, they find him sitting up in
bed, and rubbing his leg, which had just been freed from bonds. He
remarks on the unaccountable alternation and connection between
pleasure and pain, and adds that &AElig;sop, had he observed it,
would have made a fable from it. This remark reminds Cebes of
Socrates's having put some of &AElig;sop's fables into metre since
his imprisonment, and he asks, for the satisfaction of the poet
Evenus, what has induced him to do so. Socrates explains his
reason, and concludes by bidding him tell Evenus to follow him as
soon as he can. Simmias expresses his surprise at this message, on
which Socrates asks, "Is not Evenus a philosopher?" and on the
question being answered in the affirmative, he says that he or any
philosopher would be willing to die, though perhaps he would not
commit violence on himself. This, again, seems a contradiction to
Simmias; but Socrates explains it by showing that our souls <a
class='pagenumber' name='page71' id='page71'></a>are placed in the
body by God, and may not leave it without his permission. Whereupon
Cebes objects that in that case foolish men only would wish to die,
and quit the service of the best of masters, to which Simmias
agrees. Socrates, therefore, proposes to plead his cause before
them, and to show that there is a great probability that after this
life he shall go into the presence of God and good men, and be
happy in proportion to the purity of his own mind.</p>

<p>He begins<a id="footnotetag12" name="footnotetag12" href=
"#footnote12"><sup>12</sup></a> by stating that philosophy itself
is nothing else than a preparation for and meditation on death.
Death and philosophy have this in common: death separates the soul
from the body; philosophy draws off the mind from bodily things to
the contemplation of truth and virtue: for he is not a true
philosopher who is led away by bodily pleasures, since the senses
are the source of ignorance and all evil. The mind, therefore, is
entirely occupied in meditating on death, and freeing itself as
much as possible from the body. How, then, can such a man be afraid
of death? He who grieves at the approach of death can not be a true
lover of wisdom, but is a lover of his body. And, indeed, most men
are temperate through intemperance; that is to say, they abstain
from some pleasures that they may the more easily and permanently
enjoy others. They embrace only a shadow of virtue, not virtue
itself, since they estimate the value of all things by the
pleasures they afford. Whereas the philosopher purifies his mind
from all such things, and pursues virtue and wisdom for their own
sakes. This course Socrates himself has pursued to the utmost of
his ability, with what success he should shortly know; and on these
grounds he did not repine at leaving his friends in this world,
being persuaded that in another he should meet with good masters
and good friends.</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page72' id='page72'></a>Upon this
Cebes<a id="footnotetag13" name="footnotetag13" href=
"#footnote13"><sup>13</sup></a> says that he agrees with all else
that had been said, but can not help entertaining doubts of what
will become of the soul when separated from the body, for the
common opinion is that it is dispersed and vanishes like breath or
smoke, and no longer exists anywhere. Socrates, therefore, proposes
to inquire into the probability of the case, a fit employment for
him under his present circumstances.</p>

<p>His first argument<a id="footnotetag14" name="footnotetag14"
href="#footnote14"><sup>14</sup></a> is drawn from the ancient
belief prevalent among men, that souls departing hence exist in
Hades, and are produced again from the dead. If this be true, it
must follow that our souls are there, for they could not be
produced again if they did not exist; and its truth is confirmed by
this, that it is a general law of nature that contraries are
produced from contraries&mdash;the greater from the less, strong
from weak, slow from swift, heat from cold, and in like manner life
from death, and vice versa. To explain this more clearly, he
proceeds to show that what is changed passes from one state to
another, and so undergoes three different states&mdash;first, the
actual state; then the transition; and, thirdly, the new state; as
from a state of sleep, by awaking to being awake. In like manner
birth is a transition from a state of death to life, and dying from
life to death; so that the soul, by the act of dying, only passes
to another state. If it were not so, all nature would in time
become dead, just as if people did not awake out of sleep all would
at last be buried in eternal sleep. Whence the conclusion is that
the souls of men are not annihilated by death.</p>

<p>Cebes<a id="footnotetag15" name="footnotetag15" href=
"#footnote15"><sup>15</sup></a> agrees to this reasoning, and adds
that he is further convinced, of its truth by calling to mind an
argument used by Socrates on former occasions, that knowledge is <a
class='pagenumber' name='page73' id='page73'></a>nothing but
reminiscence; and if this is so, the soul must have existed, and
had knowledge, before it became united to the body.</p>

<p>But in case Simmias should not yet be satisfied, Socrates<a id=
"footnotetag16" name="footnotetag16" href=
"#footnote16"><sup>16</sup></a> proceeds to enlarge on this, his
second argument, drawn from reminiscence. We daily find that we are
carried from the knowledge of one thing to another. Things
perceived by the eyes, ears, and other senses bring up the thought
of other things; thus the sight of a lyre or a garment reminds us
of a friend, and not only are we thus reminded of sensible objects,
but of things which are comprehended by the mind alone, and have no
sensitive existence. For we have formed in our minds an idea of
abstract equality, of the beautiful, the just, the good; in short,
of every thing which we say exists without the aid of the senses,
for we use them only in the perception of individual things; whence
it follows that the mind did not acquire this knowledge in this
life, but must have had it before, and therefore the soul must have
existed before.</p>

<p>Simmias and Cebes<a id="footnotetag17" name="footnotetag17"
href="#footnote17"><sup>17</sup></a> both agree in admitting that
Socrates has proved the pre-existence of the soul, but insist that
he has not shown it to be immortal, for that nothing hinders but
that, according to the popular opinion, it may be dispersed at the
dissolution of the body. To which Socrates replies, that if their
former admissions are joined to his last argument, the immortality,
as well as the pre-existence, of the soul has been sufficiently
proved. For if it is true that any thing living is produced from
that which is dead, then the soul must exist after death, otherwise
it could not be produced again.</p>

<p>However, to remove the apprehension that the soul may be
dispersed by a wind, as it were, Socrates proceeds, in his <a
class='pagenumber' name='page74' id='page74'></a>third argument,<a
id="footnotetag18" name="footnotetag18" href=
"#footnote18"><sup>18</sup></a> to examine that doubt more
thoroughly. What, then, is meant by being dispersed but being
dissolved into its parts? In order, therefore, to a thing being
capable of dispersion it must be compounded of parts. Now, there
are two kinds of things&mdash;one compounded, the other simple The
former kind is subject to change, the latter not, and can be
comprehended by the mind alone. The one is visible, the other
invisible; and the soul, which is invisible, when it employs the
bodily senses, wanders and is confused, but when it abstracts
itself from the body it attains to the knowledge of that which is
eternal, immortal, and unchangeable. The soul, therefore, being
uncompounded and invisible, must be indissoluble; that is to say,
immortal.</p>

<p>Still Simmias and Cebes<a id="footnotetag19" name=
"footnotetag19" href="#footnote19"><sup>19</sup></a> are
unconvinced. The former objects that the soul, according to
Socrates's own showing, is nothing but a harmony resulting from a
combination of the parts of the body, and so may perish with the
body, as the harmony of a lyre does when the lyre itself is broken.
And Cebes, though he admits that the soul is more durable than the
body, yet objects that it is not, therefore, of necessity immortal,
but may in time wear out; and it is by no means clear that this is
not its last period.</p>

<p>These objections produce a powerful effect on the rest of the
company; but Socrates, undismayed, exhorts them not to suffer
themselves to be deterred from seeking the truth by any
difficulties they may meet with; and then proceeds<a id=
"footnotetag20" name="footnotetag20" href=
"#footnote20"><sup>20</sup></a> to show, in a moment, the fallacy
of Simmias's objection. It was before admitted, he says, that the
soul existed before the body; but harmony is produced after the
lyre is formed, so that the two cases are totally different. And,
further, there are various degrees of harmony, but every soul is as
much a soul as any other. But, then, what will a person <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page75' id='page75'></a>who holds this doctrine,
that the soul is harmony, say of virtue and vice in the soul? Will
he call them another kind of harmony and discord? If so, he will
contradict himself; for it is admitted that one soul is not more or
less a soul than another, and therefore one can not he more or less
harmonized than another, and one could not admit of a greater
degree of virtue or vice than another; and indeed a soul, being
harmony, could not partake of vice at all, which is discord.</p>

<p>Socrates, having thus satisfactorily answered the argument
adduced by Simmias, goes on to rebut that of Cebes,<a id=
"footnotetag21" name="footnotetag21" href=
"#footnote21"><sup>21</sup></a> who objected that the soul might in
time wear out. In order to do this, he relates that, when a young
man, he attempted to investigate the causes of all things, why they
exist and why they perish; and in the course of his researches,
finding the futility of attributing the existence of things to what
are called natural causes, he resolved on endeavoring to find out
the reasons of things. He therefore assumed that there are a
certain abstract beauty and goodness and magnitude, and so of all
other things; the truth of which being granted, he thinks he shall
be able to prove that the soul is immortal.</p>

<p>This, then, being conceded by Cebes, Socrates<a id=
"footnotetag22" name="footnotetag22" href=
"#footnote22"><sup>22</sup></a> argues that every thing that is
beautiful is so from partaking of abstract beauty, and great from
partaking of magnitude, and little from partaking of littleness.
Now, it is impossible, he argues, that contraries can exist in the
same thing at the same time; for instance, the same thing can not
possess both magnitude and littleness, but one will withdraw at the
approach of the other; and not only so, but things which, though
not contrary to each other, yet always contain contraries within
themselves, can not co-exist; for instance, <a class='pagenumber'
name='page76' id='page76'></a>the number three has no contrary, yet
it contains within itself the idea of odd, which is the contrary of
even, and so three never can become even; in like manner, heat
while it is heat can never admit the idea of its contrary, cold.
Now, if this method of reasoning is applied to the soul, it will be
found to be immortal; for life and death are contraries, and never
can co-exist; but wherever the soul is, there is life: so that it
contains within itself that which is contrary to death, and
consequently can never admit of death; therefore it is
immortal.</p>

<p>With this he closes his arguments in support of the soul's
immortality. Cebes owns himself convinced, but Simmias, though he
is unable to make any objection to the soundness of Socrates's
reasoning, can not help still entertaining doubts on the subject.
If, however, the soul is immortal, Socrates proceeds,<a id=
"footnotetag23" name="footnotetag23" href=
"#footnote23"><sup>23</sup></a> great need is there in this life to
endeavor to become as wise and good as possible. For if death were
a deliverance from every thing, it would be a great gain for the
wicked; but since the soul appears to be immortal, it must go to
the place suited to its nature. For it is said that each person's
demon conducts him to a place where he receives sentence according
to his deserts.</p>

<p>He then<a id="footnotetag24" name="footnotetag24" href=
"#footnote24"><sup>24</sup></a> draws a fanciful picture of the
various regions of the earth, to which the good and the bad will
respectively go after death, and exhorts his friends to use every
endeavor to acquire virtue and wisdom in this life, "for," he adds,
"the reward is noble, and the hope great."</p>

<p>Having thus brought his subject to a conclusion, Socrates
proposes to bathe himself, in order not to trouble others to wash
his dead body. Crito thereupon asks if he has any commands to give,
and especially how he would be buried, to which he, with his usual
cheerfulness, makes answer, "<a class='pagenumber' name='page77'
id='page77'></a>Just as you please, if only you can catch me;" and
then, smiling, he reminds them that after death he shall be no
longer with them, and begs the others of the party to be sureties
to Crito for his absence from the body, as they had been before
bound for his presence before his judges.</p>

<p>After he had bathed, and taken leave of his children and the
women of his family the officer of the Eleven comes in to intimate
to him that it is now time to drink the poison. Crito urges a
little delay, as the sun had not yet set; but Socrates refuses to
make himself ridiculous by showing such a fondness for life. The
man who is to administer the poison is therefore sent for; and on
his holding out the cup, Socrates, neither trembling nor changing
color or countenance at all, but, as he was wont, looking
steadfastly at the man, asked if he might make a libation to any
one; and being told that no more poison than enough had been mixed,
he simply prayed that his departure from this to another world
might be happy, and then drank off the poison, readily and calmly.
His friends, who had hitherto with difficulty restrained
themselves, could no longer control the outward expressions of
grief, to which Socrates said, "What are you doing, my friends? I,
for this reason, chiefly, sent away the women, that they might not
commit any folly of this kind; for I have heard that it is right to
die with good omens. Be quiet, therefore, and bear up."</p>

<p>When he had walked about for a while his legs began to grow
heavy, so he lay down on his back; and his body, from the feet
upward, gradually grew cold and stiff. His last words were, "Crito,
we owe a cock to &AElig;sculapius; pay it, therefore, and do not
neglect it."</p>

<p>"This," concludes Ph&aelig;do, "was the end of our
friend&mdash;a man, as we may say, the best of all his time, that
we have known, and, moreover, the most wise and just."</p>

<h3>Footnotes</h3>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote12" name="footnote12" href=
"#footnotetag12">12</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec21">21-39</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote13" name="footnote13" href=
"#footnotetag13">13</a>: Sec. <a href="#phaedo_sec39">39,
40</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote14" name="footnote14" href=
"#footnotetag14">14</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec40">40-46</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote15" name="footnote15" href=
"#footnotetag15">15</a>: Sec. <a href="#phaedo_sec47">47</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote16" name="footnote16" href=
"#footnotetag16">16</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec48">48-57</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote17" name="footnote17" href=
"#footnotetag17">17</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec55">55-59</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote18" name="footnote18" href=
"#footnotetag18">18</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec61">61-75</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote19" name="footnote19" href=
"#footnotetag19">19</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec76">76-84</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote20" name="footnote20" href=
"#footnotetag20">20</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec93">93-99</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote21" name="footnote21" href=
"#footnotetag21">21</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec100">100-112</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote22" name="footnote22" href=
"#footnotetag22">22</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec112">112-128</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote23" name="footnote23" href=
"#footnotetag23">23</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec129">129-131</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote24" name="footnote24" href=
"#footnotetag24">24</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec132">132-145</a>.</div>

<hr>
</div>

<div class="book"><a name='phaedo_or_the_immortality_of_the_soul'
id='phaedo_or_the_immortality_of_the_soul'></a><a class=
'pagenumber' name='page78' id='page78'></a>

<h2>Ph&aelig;do;<br>
 Or,<br>
 The Immortality Of The Soul.</h2>

FIRST ECHECRATES, PH&AElig;DO.<br>
 THEN SOCRATES, APOLLODORUS, CEBES, SIMMIAS, AND CRITO.

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec1" name=
"phaedo_sec1"></a><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> Were you
personally present, Ph&aelig;do, with Socrates on that day when he
drank the poison in prison, or did you hear an account of it from
some one else?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> I was there myself,
Echecrates.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> What, then, did he say
before his death, and how did he die? for I should be glad to hear:
for scarcely any citizen of Phlius<a id="footnotetag25" name=
"footnotetag25" href="#footnote25"><sup>25</sup></a> ever visits
Athens now, nor has any stranger for a long time come from thence
who was able to give us a clear account of the particulars, except
that he had died from drinking poison; but he was unable to tell us
any thing more.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec2" name=
"phaedo_sec2">2</a>. <span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span>
And did you not hear about the trial&mdash;how it went off?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> Yes; some one told me
this; and I wondered that, <a class='pagenumber' name='page79' id=
'page79'></a>as it took place so long ago, he appears to have died
long afterward. What was the reason of this, Ph&aelig;do?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> An accidental
circumstance happened in his favor, Echecrates; for the poop of the
ship which the Athenians send to Delos chanced to be crowned on the
day before the trial.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> But what is this ship?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> It is the ship, as
the Athenians say, in which Theseus formerly conveyed the fourteen
boys and girls to Crete, and saved both them and himself. They,
therefore, made a vow to Apollo on that occasion, as it is said,
that if they were saved they would every year dispatch a solemn
embassy to Delos; which, from that time to the present, they send
yearly to the god. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec3" name=
"phaedo_sec3">3</a>. When they begin the preparations for this
solemn embassy, they have a law that the city shall be purified
during this period, and that no public execution shall take place
until the ship has reached Delos, and returned to Athens; and this
occasionally takes a long time, when the winds happen to impede
their passage. The commencement of the embassy is when the priest
of Apollo has crowned the poop of the ship. And this was done, as I
said, on the day before the trial: on this account Socrates had a
long interval in prison between the trial and his death.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec4" name=
"phaedo_sec4">4</a>. <span class="speakername">Ech.</span> And
what, Ph&aelig;do, were the circumstances of his death? What was
said and done? and who of his friends were with him? or would not
the magistrates allow them to be present, but did he die destitute
of friends?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> By no means; but
some, indeed several, were present.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> Take the trouble, then, to
relate to me all the particulars as clearly as you can, unless you
have any pressing business.</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page80' id='page80'></a><span class=
"speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> I am at leisure, and will endeavor
to give you a full account; for to call Socrates to mind, whether
speaking myself or listening to some one else, is always most
delightful to me.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec5" name=
"phaedo_sec5">5</a>. <span class="speakername">Ech.</span> And
indeed, Ph&aelig;do, you have others to listen to you who are of
the same mind. However, endeavor to relate every thing as
accurately as you can.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> I was, indeed,
wonderfully affected by being present, for I was not impressed with
a feeling of pity, like one present at the death of a friend; for
the man appeared to me to be happy, Echecrates, both from his
manner and discourse, so fearlessly and nobly did he meet his
death: so much so, that it occurred to me that in going to Hades he
was not going without a divine destiny, but that when he arrived
there he would be happy, if any one ever was. For this reason I was
entirely uninfluenced by any feeling of pity, as would seem likely
to be the case with one present on so mournful an occasion; nor was
I affected by pleasure from being engaged in philosophical
discussions, as was our custom; for our conversation was of that
kind. But an altogether unaccountable feeling possessed me, a kind
of unusual mixture compounded of pleasure and pain together, when I
considered that he was immediately about to die. And all of us who
were present were affected in much the same manner, at one time
laughing, at another weeping&mdash;one of us especially,
Apollodorus, for you know the man and his manner.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> How should I not?</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec6" name=
"phaedo_sec6">6</a>. <span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span>
He, then, was entirely overcome by these emotions; and I, too, was
troubled, as well as the others.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> But who were present,
Ph&aelig;do?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> Of his
fellow-countrymen, this Apollodorus was present, and Critobulus,
and his father, Crito; moreover, <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page81' id='page81'></a>Hermogenes, Epigenes, &AElig;schines and
Antisthenes; Ctesippus the P&aelig;anian, Menexenus, and some
others of his countrymen, were also there: Plato, I think, was
sick.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> Were any strangers
present?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> Yes; Simmias, the
Theban, Cebes and Ph&aelig;dondes; and from Megara, Euclides and
Terpsion.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec7" name=
"phaedo_sec7">7</a>. <span class="speakername">Ech.</span> But
what! were not Aristippus and Cleombrotus present?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> No, for they were
said to be at &AElig;gina.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> Was any one else
there?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> I think that these
were nearly all who were present.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ech.</span> Well, now, what do you say
was the subject of conversation?</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> I will endeavor to
relate the whole to you from the beginning. On the preceding days I
and the others were constantly in the habit of visiting Socrates,
meeting early in the morning at the court house where the trial
took place, for it was near the prison. <a class="sectionnumber"
id="phaedo_sec8" name="phaedo_sec8">8</a>. Here, then, we waited
every day till the prison was opened, conversing with each other,
for it was not opened very early; but as soon as it was opened we
went in to Socrates, and usually spent the day with him. On that
occasion, however, we met earlier than usual; for on the preceding
day, when we left the prison in the evening, we heard that the ship
had arrived from Delos. We therefore urged each other to come as
early as possible to the accustomed place. Accordingly we came; and
the porter, who used to admit us, coming out, told us to wait, and
not to enter until he had called us. "For," he said, "the Eleven
are now freeing Socrates from his bonds, and announcing to him that
he must die to-day." But in no long time he returned, and bade us
enter.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec9" name=
"phaedo_sec9">9</a>. When we entered, we found Socrates just freed
from <a class='pagenumber' name='page82' id='page82'></a>his bonds,
and Xantippe, you know her, holding his little boy, and sitting by
him. As soon as Xantippe saw us she wept aloud, and said such
things as women usually do on such occasions&mdash;as, "Socrates,
your friends will now converse with you for the last time, and you
with them." But Socrates, looking towards Crito, said: "Crito, let
some one take her home." Upon which some of Crito's attendants led
her away, wailing and beating herself.</p>

<p>But Socrates, sitting up in bed, drew up his leg, and rubbed it
with his hand, and as he rubbed it, said: "What an unaccountable
thing, my friends, that seems to be, which men call pleasure! and
how wonderfully is it related toward that which appears to be its
contrary, pain, in that they will not both be present to a man at
the same time! Yet if any one pursues and attains the one, he is
almost always compelled to receive the other, as if they were both
united together from one head."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec10" name=
"phaedo_sec10">10</a>. "And it seems tome," he said, "that if
&AElig;sop had observed this he would have made a fable from it,
how the deity, wishing to reconcile these warring principles, when
he could not do so, united their heads together, and from hence
whomsoever the one visits the other attends immediately after; as
appears to be the case with me, since I suffered pain in my leg
before from the chain, but now pleasure seems to have
succeeded."</p>

<p>Hereupon Cebes, interrupting him, said: "By Jupiter! Socrates,
you have done well in reminding me; with respect to the poems which
you made, by putting into metre those Fables of &AElig;sop and the
hymn to Apollo, several other persons asked me, and especially
Evenus recently, with what design you made them after you came
here, whereas before you had never made any. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec11" name="phaedo_sec11">11</a>. If
therefore, you care at all that I should be able to answer Evenus,
when he asks me <a class='pagenumber' name='page83' id=
'page83'></a>again&mdash;for I am sure he will do so&mdash;tell me
what I must say to him."</p>

<p>"Tell him the truth, then, Cebes," he replied, "that I did not
make them from a wish to compete with him, or his poems, for I knew
that this would be no easy matter; but that I might discover the
meaning of certain dreams, and discharge my conscience, if this
should happen to be the music which they have often ordered me to
apply myself to. For they were to the following purport: often in
my past life the same dream visited me, appearing at different
times in different forms, yet always saying the same
thing&mdash;'Socrates,' it said, 'apply yourself to and practice
music.' <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec12" name=
"phaedo_sec12">12</a>. And I formerly supposed that it exhorted and
encouraged me to continue the pursuit I was engaged in, as those
who cheer on racers, so that the dream encouraged me to continue
the pursuit I was engaged in&mdash;namely, to apply myself to
music, since philosophy is the highest music, and I was devoted to
it. But now since my trial took place, and the festival of the god
retarded my death, it appeared to me that if by chance the dream so
frequently enjoined me to apply myself to popular music, I ought
not to disobey it, but do so, for that it would be safer for me not
to depart hence before I had discharged my conscience by making
some poems in obedience to the dream. Thus, then, I first of all
composed a hymn to the god whose festival was present; and after
the god, considering that a poet, if he means to be a poet, ought
to make fables, and not discourses, and knowing that I was not
skilled in making fables, I therefore put into verse those Fables
of &AElig;sop, which were at hand, and were known to me, and which
first occurred to me."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec13" name=
"phaedo_sec13">13</a>. "Tell this, then, to Evenus, Cebes, and bid
him farewell, and if he is wise, to follow me as soon as he can.
But I depart, as it seems, to-day; for so the Athenians order."</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page84' id='page84'></a>To this
Simmias said, "What is this, Socrates, which you exhort Evenus to
do? for I often meet with him; and, from what I know of him, I am
pretty certain that he will not at all be willing to comply with
your advice."</p>

<p>"What, then," said he, "is not Evenus a philosopher?"</p>

<p>"To me he seems to be so," said Simmias.</p>

<p>"Then he will be willing," rejoined Socrates, "and so will every
one who worthily engages in this study. Perhaps, indeed, he will
not commit violence on himself; for that, they say, is not
allowable." And as he said this he let down his leg from the bed on
the ground, and in this posture continued during the remainder of
the discussion.</p>

<p>Cebes then asked him, "What do you mean, Socrates, by saying
that it is not lawful to commit violence on one's self, but that a
philosopher should be willing to follow one who is dying?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec14" name=
"phaedo_sec14">14</a>. "What, Cebes! have not you and Simmias, who
have conversed familiarly with Philolaus<a id="footnotetag26" name=
"footnotetag26" href="#footnote26"><sup>26</sup></a> on this
subject, heard?"</p>

<p>"Nothing very clearly, Socrates."</p>

<p>"I, however, speak only from hearsay; what, then, I have heard I
have no scruple in telling. And perhaps it is most becoming for one
who is about to travel there to inquire and speculate about the
journey thither, what kind we think it is. What else can one do in
the interval before sunset?"</p>

<p>"Why, then, Socrates, do they say that it is not allowable to
kill one's self? for I, as you asked just now, have heard both
Philolaus, when he lived with us, and several others, say that it
was not right to do this; but I never heard any thing clear upon
the subject from any one."</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page85' id='page85'></a><a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec15" name="phaedo_sec15">15</a>.
"Then, you should consider it attentively," said Socrates, "for
perhaps you may hear. Probably, however, it will appear wonderful
to you, if this alone, of all other things, is a universal truth,<a
id="footnotetag27" name="footnotetag27" href=
"#footnote27"><sup>27</sup></a> and it never happens to a man, as
is the case in all other things, that at some times and to some
persons only it is better to die than to live; yet that these men
for whom it is better to die&mdash;this probably will appear
wonderful to you&mdash;may not without impiety do this good to
themselves, but must await another benefactor."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec16" name=
"phaedo_sec16">16</a>. Then Cebes, gently smiling, said, speaking
in his own dialect,<a id="footnotetag28" name="footnotetag28" href=
"#footnote28"><sup>28</sup></a> "Jove be witness!"</p>

<p>"And, indeed," said Socrates, "it would appear to be
unreasonable; yet still, perhaps, it has some reason on its side.
The maxim, indeed, given on this subject in the mystical
doctrines,<a id="footnotetag29" name="footnotetag29" href=
"#footnote29"><sup>29</sup></a> that we men are in a kind of
prison, and that we ought not to free ourselves from it and escape,
appears to me difficult to be understood, and not easy to
penetrate. This, however, appears to me, Cebes, to be well said:
that the gods take care of us, and that we men are one of their
possessions. Does it not seem so to you?"</p>

<p>"It does," replied Cebes.</p>

<p>"Therefore," said he, "if one of your slaves were to kill
himself, without your having intimated that you wished him to die,
should you not be angry with him, and should you not punish him if
you could?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p>

<p>"Perhaps, then, in this point of view, it is not unreasonable to
assert that a man ought not to kill himself before the deity lays
him under a necessity of doing so, such as that now laid on
me."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec17" name=
"phaedo_sec17">17</a>. "This, indeed," said Cebes, "appears to be
probable. <a class='pagenumber' name='page86' id='page86'></a>But
what you said just now, Socrates, that philosophers should be very
willing to die, appears to be an absurdity, if what we said just
now is agreeable to reason&mdash;that it is God who takes care of
us, and that we are his property. For that the wisest men should
not be grieved at leaving that service in which they govern them
who are the best of all masters&mdash;namely, the gods&mdash;is not
consistent with reason; for surely he can not think that he will
take better care of himself when he has become free. But a foolish
man might perhaps think thus, that he should fly from his master,
and would not reflect that he ought not to fly from a good one, but
should cling to him as much as possible; therefore he would fly
against all reason; but a man of sense would desire to be
constantly with one better than himself. Thus, Socrates, the
contrary of what you just now said is likely to be the case; for it
becomes the wise to be grieved at dying, but the foolish to
rejoice."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec18" name=
"phaedo_sec18">18</a>. Socrates, on hearing this, appeared to me to
be pleased with the pertinacity of Cebes, and, looking toward us,
said, "Cebes, you see, always searches out arguments, and is not at
all willing to admit at once any thing one has said."</p>

<p>Whereupon Simmias replied, "But, indeed, Socrates, Cebes appears
to me now to say something to the purpose; for with what design
should men really wise fly from masters who are better than
themselves, and so readily leave them? And Cebes appears to me to
direct his argument against you, because you so easily endure to
abandon both us and those good rulers, as you yourself confess, the
gods."</p>

<p>"You speak justly," said Socrates, "for I think you mean that I
ought to make my defense to this charge, as if I were in a court of
justice."</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page87' id='page87'></a>Certainly,"
replied Simmias.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec19" name=
"phaedo_sec19">19</a>. "Come, then," said he, "I will endeavor to
defend myself more successfully before you than before the judges.
For," he proceeded, "Simmias and Cebes, if I did not think that I
should go, first of all, among other deities who are both wise and
good, and, next, among men who have departed this life, better than
any here, I should be wrong in not grieving at death; but now, be
assured, I hope to go among good men, though I would not positively
assert it. That, however, I shall go among gods who are perfectly
good masters, be assured I can positively assert this, if I can any
thing of the kind. So that, on this account, I am not so much
troubled, but I entertain a good hope that something awaits those
who die, and that, as was said long since, it will be far better
for the good than the evil."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec20" name=
"phaedo_sec20">20</a>. "What, then, Socrates," said Simmias, "would
you go away keeping this persuasion to yourself, or would you
impart it to us? For this good appears to me to be also common to
us; and at the same time it will be an apology for you, if you can
persuade us to believe what you say."</p>

<p>"I will endeavor to do so," he said. "But first let us attend to
Crito here, and see what it is he seems to have for some time
wished to say."</p>

<p>"What else, Socrates," said Crito, "but what he who is to give
you the poison told me some time ago, that I should tell you to
speak as little as possible? For he says that men become too much
heated by speaking, and that nothing of this kind ought to
interfere with the poison; and that, otherwise, those who did so
were sometimes compelled to drink two or three times."</p>

<p>To which Socrates replied, "Let him alone, and let him attend to
his own business, and prepare to give it me twice, or, if occasion
require, even thrice."</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page88' id='page88'></a><a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec21" name="phaedo_sec21">21</a>. "I
was almost certain what you would say," answered Crito, "but he has
been some time pestering me."</p>

<p>"Never mind him," he rejoined.</p>

<p>"But now I wish to render an account to you, my judges, of the
reason why a man who has really devoted his life to philosophy,
when he is about to die, appears to me, on good grounds, to have
confidence, and to entertain a firm hope that the greatest good
will befall him in the other world when he has departed this life.
How, then, this comes to pass, Simmias and Cebes, I will endeavor
to explain."</p>

<p>"For as many as rightly apply themselves to philosophy seem to
have left all others in ignorance, that they aim at nothing else
than to die and be dead. If this, then, is true, it would surely be
absurd to be anxious about nothing else than this during their
whole life, but, when it arrives, to be grieved at what they have
been long anxious about and aimed at."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec22" name=
"phaedo_sec22">22</a>. Upon this, Simmias, smiling, said, "By
Jupiter! Socrates, though I am not now at all inclined to smile,
you have made me do so; for I think that the multitude, if they
heard this, would think it was very well said in reference to
philosophers, and that our countrymen particularly would agree with
you, that true philosophers do desire death, and that they are by
no means ignorant that they deserve to suffer it."</p>

<p>"And, indeed, Simmias, they would speak the truth, except in
asserting that they are not ignorant; for they are ignorant of the
sense in which true philosophers desire to die, and in what sense
they deserve death, and what kind of death. But," he said, "let us
take leave of them, and speak to one another. Do we think that
death is any thing?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," replied Simmias.</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page89' id='page89'></a><a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec23" name="phaedo_sec23">23</a>. "Is
it any thing else than the separation of the soul from the body?
And is not this to die, for the body to be apart by itself
separated from the soul, and for the soul to subsist apart by
itself separated from the body? Is death any thing else than
this?"</p>

<p>"No, but this," he replied.</p>

<p>"Consider, then, my good friend, whether you are of the same
opinion as I; for thus, I think, we shall understand better the
subject we are considering. Does it appear to you to be becoming in
a philosopher to be anxious about pleasures, as they are called,
such as meats and drinks?"</p>

<p>"By no means, Socrates," said Simmias.</p>

<p>"But what? about the pleasures of love?"</p>

<p>"Not at all."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec24" name=
"phaedo_sec24">24</a>. "What, then? Does such a man appear to you
to think other bodily indulgences of value? For instance, does he
seem to you to value or despise the possession of magnificent
garments and sandals, and other ornaments of the body except so far
as necessity compels him to use them?"</p>

<p>"The true philosopher," he answered, "appears to me to despise
them."</p>

<p>"Does not, then," he continued, "the whole employment of such a
man appear to you to be, not about the body, but to separate
himself from it as much as possible, and be occupied about his
soul?"</p>

<p>"It does."</p>

<p>"First of all, then, in such matters, does not the philosopher,
above all other men, evidently free his soul as much as he can from
communion with the body?"</p>

<p>"It appears so."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec25" name=
"phaedo_sec25">25</a>. "And it appears, Simmias, to the generality
of men, that he who takes no pleasure in such things, and who does
<a class='pagenumber' name='page90' id='page90'></a>not use them,
does not deserve to live; but that he nearly approaches to death
who cares nothing for the pleasures that subsist through the
body."</p>

<p>"You speak very truly."</p>

<p>"But what with respect to the acquisition of wisdom? Is the body
an impediment, or not, if any one takes it with him as a partner in
the search? What I mean is this: Do sight and hearing convey any
truth to men, or are they such as the poets constantly sing, who
say that we neither hear nor see any thing with accuracy? If,
however, these bodily senses are neither accurate nor clear, much
less can the others be so; for they are all far inferior to these.
Do they not seem so to you?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec26" name=
"phaedo_sec26">26</a>. "When, then," said he, "does the soul light
on the truth? for when it attempts to consider any thing in
conjunction with the body, it is plain that it is then led astray
by it."</p>

<p>"You say truly."</p>

<p>"Must it not, then, be by reasoning, if at all, that any of the
things that really are become known to it?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"And surely the soul then reasons best when none of these things
disturb it&mdash;neither hearing, nor sight, nor pain, nor pleasure
of any kind; but it retires as much as possible within itself,
taking leave of the body; and, so far as it can, not communicating
or being in contact with it, it aims at the discovery of that which
is."</p>

<p>"Such is the case."</p>

<p>"Does not, then, the soul of the philosopher, in these cases,
despise the body, and flee from it, and seek to retire within
itself?"</p>

<p>"It appears so."</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page91' id='page91'></a><a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec27" name="phaedo_sec27">27</a>. "But
what as to such things as these, Simmias? Do we say that justice
itself is something or nothing?"</p>

<p>"We say it is something, by Jupiter!"</p>

<p>"And that beauty and goodness are something?"</p>

<p>"How not?"</p>

<p>"Now, then, have you ever seen any thing of this kind with your
eyes?"</p>

<p>"By no means," he replied.</p>

<p>"Did you ever lay hold of them by any other bodily sense? But I
speak generally, as of magnitude, health, strength and, in a word,
of the essence of every thing; that is to say, what each is. Is,
then, the exact truth of these perceived by means of the body, or
is it thus, whoever among us habituates himself to reflect most
deeply and accurately on each several thing about which he is
considering, he will make the nearest approach to the knowledge of
it?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec28" name=
"phaedo_sec28">28</a>. "Would not he, then, do this with the utmost
purity, who should in the highest degree approach each subject by
means of the mere mental faculties, neither employing the sight in
conjunction with the reflective faculty, nor introducing any other
sense together with reasoning; but who, using pure reflection by
itself, should attempt to search out each essence purely by itself,
freed as much as possible from the eyes and ears, and, in a word,
from the whole body, as disturbing the soul, and not suffering it
to acquire truth and wisdom, when it is in communion with it. Is
not he the person, Simmias, if any one can, who will arrive at the
knowledge of that which is?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec29" name=
"phaedo_sec29">29</a>. "You speak with wonderful truth, Socrates,"
replied Simmias.</p>

<p>"Wherefore," he said, "it necessarily follows from all <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page92' id='page92'></a>this that some such
opinion as this should be entertained by genuine philosophers, so
that they should speak among themselves as follows: 'A by-path, as
it were, seems to lead us on in our researches undertaken by
reason,' because so long as we are encumbered with the body, and
our soul is contaminated with such an evil, we can never fully
attain to what we desire; and this, we say, is truth. For the body
subjects us to innumerable hinderances on account of its necessary
support; and, moreover, if any diseases befall us, they impede us
in our search after that which is; and it fills us with longings,
desires, fears, all kinds of fancies, and a multitude of
absurdities, so that, as it is said in real truth, by reason of the
body it is never possible for us to make any advances in wisdom. <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec30" name="phaedo_sec30">30</a>.
For nothing else than the body and its desires occasion wars,
seditions, and contests; for all wars among us arise on account of
our desire to acquire wealth: and we are compelled to acquire
wealth on account of the body, being enslaved to its service; and
consequently on all these accounts we are hindered in the pursuit
of philosophy. But the worst of all is, that if it leaves us any
leisure, and we apply ourselves to the consideration of any
subject, it constantly obtrudes itself in the midst of our
researches, and occasions trouble and disturbance, and confounds us
so that we are not able, by reason of it, to discern the truth. It
has, then, in reality been demonstrated to us that if we are ever
to know any thing purely, we must be separated from the body, and
contemplate the things themselves by the mere soul; and then, as it
seems, we shall obtain that which we desire, and which we profess
ourselves to be lovers of&mdash;wisdom&mdash;when we are dead, as
reason shows, but not while we are alive. <a class="sectionnumber"
id="phaedo_sec31" name="phaedo_sec31">31</a>. For if it is not
possible to know any thing purely in conjunction with the body, one
of these two things must follow, either that we can never acquire
<a class='pagenumber' name='page93' id='page93'></a>knowledge, or
only after we are dead; for then the soul will subsist apart by
itself, separate from the body, but not before. And while we live
we shall thus, as it seems, approach nearest to knowledge, if we
hold no intercourse or communion at all with the body, except what
absolute necessity requires, nor suffer ourselves to be polluted by
its nature, but purify ourselves from it, until God himself shall
release us. And thus being pure, and freed from the folly of body,
we shall in all likelihood be with others like ourselves, and shall
of ourselves know the whole real essence, and that probably is
truth; for it is not allowable for the impure to attain to the
pure. Such things, I think, Simmias, all true lovers of wisdom must
both think and say to one another. Does it not seem so to you?"</p>

<p>"Most assuredly, Socrates."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec32" name=
"phaedo_sec32">32</a>. "If this, then," said Socrates, "is true, my
friend, there is great hope for one who arrives where I am going,
there, if anywhere, to acquire that in perfection for the sake of
which we have taken so much pains during our past life; so that the
journey now appointed me is set out upon with good hope, and will
be so by any other man who thinks that his mind has been, as it
were, purified."</p>

<p>"Certainly," said Simmias.</p>

<p>"But does not purification consist in this, as was said in a
former part of our discourse, in separating as much as possible the
soul from the body, and in accustoming it to gather and collect
itself by itself on all sides apart from the body, and to dwell, so
far as it can, both now and hereafter, alone by itself, delivered,
as it were, from the shackles of the body?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec33" name=
"phaedo_sec33">33</a>. "Is this, then, called death, this
deliverance and separation of the soul from the body?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page94' id='page94'></a>Assuredly,"
he answered.</p>

<p>"But, as we affirmed, those who pursue philosophy rightly are
especially and alone desirous to deliver it; and this is the very
study of philosophers, the deliverance and separation of the soul
from the body, is it not?"</p>

<p>"It appears so."</p>

<p>"Then, as I said at first, would it not be ridiculous for a man
who has endeavored throughout his life to live as near as possible
to death, then, when death arrives, to grieve? would not this be
ridiculous?"</p>

<p>"How should it not?"</p>

<p>"In reality, then, Simmias," he continued, "those who pursue
philosophy rightly, study to die; and to them, of all men, death is
least formidable. Judge from this. Since they altogether hate the
body and desire to keep the soul by itself, would it not be
irrational if, when this comes to pass, they should be afraid and
grieve, and not be glad to go to that place where, on their
arrival, they may hope to obtain that which they longed for
throughout life? But they longed for wisdom, and to be freed from
association with that which they hated. <a class="sectionnumber"
id="phaedo_sec34" name="phaedo_sec34">34</a>. Have many of their
own accord wished to descend into Hades, on account of human
objects of affection, their wives and sons, induced by this very
hope of their seeing and being with those whom they have loved? and
shall one who really loves wisdom, and firmly cherishes this very
hope, that he shall nowhere else attain it in a manner worthy of
the name, except in Hades, be grieved at dying, and not gladly go
there? We must think that he would gladly go, my friend, if he be
in truth a philosopher; for he will be firmly persuaded of this,
that he will nowhere else than there attain wisdom in its purity;
and if this be so, would it not be very irrational, as I just now
said, if such a man were to be afraid of death?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page95' id='page95'></a>Very much
so, by Jupiter!" he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec35" name=
"phaedo_sec35">35</a>. "Would not this, then," he resumed, "be a
sufficient proof to you with respect to a man whom you should see
grieved when about to die, that he was not a lover of wisdom, but a
lover of his body? And this same person is probably a lover of
riches and a lover of honor, one or both of these."</p>

<p>"It certainly is as you say," he replied.</p>

<p>"Does not, then," he said, "that which is called fortitude,
Simmias, eminently belong to philosophers?"</p>

<p>"By all means," he answered.</p>

<p>"And temperance, also, which even the multitude call temperance,
and which consists in not being carried away by the passions, but
in holding them in contempt, and keeping them in subjection, does
not this belong to those only who most despise the body, and live
in the study of philosophy?"</p>

<p>"Necessarily so," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec36" name=
"phaedo_sec36">36</a>. "For," he continued, "if you will consider
the fortitude and temperance of others, they will appear to you to
be absurd."</p>

<p>"How so, Socrates?"</p>

<p>"Do you know," he said, "that all others consider death among
the great evils?"</p>

<p>"They do indeed," he answered.</p>

<p>"Then, do the brave among them endure death when they do endure
it, through dread of greater evils?"</p>

<p>"It is so."</p>

<p>"All men, therefore, except philosophers, are brave through
being afraid and fear; though it is absurd that any one should be
brave through fear and cowardice."</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"But what, are not those among them who keep their <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page96' id='page96'></a>passions in subjection
affected in the same way? and are they not temperate through a kind
of intemperance? And although we may say, perhaps, that this is
impossible, nevertheless the manner in which they are affected with
respect to this silly temperance resembles this, for, fearing to be
deprived of other pleasures, and desiring them, they abstain from
some, being mastered by others. And though they call intemperance
the being governed by pleasures, yet it happens to them that, by
being mastered by some pleasures, they master others, and this is
similar to what was just now said, that in a certain manner they
become temperate through intemperance."</p>

<p>"So it seems,"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec37" name=
"phaedo_sec37">37</a>. "My dear Simmias, consider that this is not
a right exchange for virtue, to barter pleasures for pleasures,
pains for pains, fear for fear, and the greater for the lesser,
like pieces of money, but that that alone is the right coin, for
which we ought to barter all these things, wisdom, and for this and
with this everything is in reality bought and sold Fortitude,
temperance and justice, and, in a word true virtue, subsist with
wisdom, whether pleasures and fears, and everything else of the
kind, are present or absent, but when separated from wisdom and
changed one for another, consider whether such virtue is not a mere
outline and in reality servile, possessing neither soundness nor
truth. But the really true virtue is a purification from all such
things, and temperance, justice, fortitude and wisdom itself, are a
kind of initiatory purification <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec38" name="phaedo_sec38">38</a>. And those who instituted
the mysteries for us appear to have been by no means contemptible,
but in reality to have intimated long since that whoever shall
arrive in Hades unexpiated and uninitiated shall lie in mud, but he
that arrives there purified and initiated shall dwell with the gods
'For there are,' say those <a class='pagenumber' name='page97' id=
'page97'></a>who preside at the mysteries, 'many wand-bearers, but
few inspired'. These last, in my opinion, are no other than those
who have pursued philosophy rightly that I might be of their
number. I have to the utmost of my ability left no means untried,
but have endeavored to the utmost of my power. But whether I have
endeavored rightly, and have in any respect succeeded, on arriving
there I shall know clearly, if it please God&mdash;very shortly, as
it appears to me."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec39" name=
"phaedo_sec39">39</a>. "Such, then, Simmias and Cebes," he added,
"is the defense I make, for that I, on good grounds, do not repine
or grieve at leaving you and my masters here, being persuaded that
there, no less than here, I shall meet with good masters and
friends. But to the multitude this is incredible If, however, I
have succeeded better with you in my defense than I did with the
Athenian judges, it is well."</p>

<p>When Socrates had thus spoken, Cebes, taking up the discussion,
said "Socrates, all the rest appears to me to be said rightly, but
what you have said respecting the soul will occasion much
incredulity in many from the apprehension that when it is separated
from the body it no longer exists anywhere, but is destroyed and
perishes on the very day in which a man dies, and that immediately
it is separated and goes out from the body it is dispersed, and
vanishes like breath or smoke, and is no longer anywhere, since if
it remained anywhere united in itself, and freed from those evils
which you have just now enumerated, there would be an abundant and
good hope, Socrates, that what you say is true <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec40" name="phaedo_sec40">40</a>. But
this probably needs no little persuasion and proof, that the soul
of a man who dies exists, and possesses activity and
intelligence."</p>

<p>"You say truly, Cebes," said Socrates, "but what shall we do?
Are you willing that we should converse on these points, whether
such is probably the case or not?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page98' id='page98'></a>Indeed,"
replied Cebes, "I should gladly hear your opinion on these
matters."</p>

<p>"I do not think," said Socrates, "that any one who should now
hear us, even though he were a comic poet, would say that I am
talking idly, or discoursing on subjects that do not concern me. If
you please, then, we will examine into it. Let us consider it in
this point of view, whether the souls of men who are dead exist in
Hades, or not. This is an ancient saying, which we now call to
mind, that souls departing hence exist there, and return hither
again, and are produced from the dead. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec41" name="phaedo_sec41">41</a>. And if this is so, that
the living are produced again from the dead, can there be any other
consequence than that our souls are there? for surely they could
not be produced again if they did not exist; and this would be
sufficient proof that these things are so, if it should in reality
be evident that the living are produced from no other source than
the dead. But if this is not the case, there will be need of other
arguments."</p>

<p>"Certainly," said Cebes.</p>

<p>"You must not, then," he continued, "consider this only with
respect to men, if you wish to ascertain it with greater certainty,
but also with respect to all animals and plants, and, in a word,
with respect to every thing that is subject to generation. Let us
see whether they are not all so produced, no otherwise than
contraries from contraries, wherever they have any such quality;
as, for instance, the honorable is contrary to the base, and the
just to the unjust, and so with ten thousand other things. <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec42" name="phaedo_sec42">42</a>.
Let us consider this, then, whether it is necessary that all things
which have a contrary should be produced from nothing else than
their contrary. As, for instance, when any thing becomes greater,
is it not necessary that, from being previously smaller, it
afterward became greater?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page99' id='page99'></a>Yes."</p>

<p>"And if it becomes smaller, will it not, from being previously
greater, afterward become smaller?"</p>

<p>"It is so," he replied.</p>

<p>"And from stronger, weaker? and from slower, swifter?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"What, then? If any thing becomes worse, must it not become so
from better? and if more just, from more unjust?"</p>

<p>"How should it not?"</p>

<p>"We have then," he said, "sufficiently determined this, that all
things are thus produced, contraries from contraries?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"What next? Is there also something of this kind in them; for
instance, between all two contraries a mutual twofold production,
from one to the other, and from that other back again? for between
a greater thing and a smaller there are increase and decrease, and
do we not accordingly call the one to increase, the other to
decrease?"</p>

<p>"Yes," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec43" name=
"phaedo_sec43">43</a>. "And must not to be separated and
commingled, to grow cold and to grow warm, and every thing in the
same manner, even though sometimes we have not names to designate
them, yet in fact be everywhere thus circumstanced, of necessity,
as to be produced from each other, and be subject to a reciprocal
generation?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p>

<p>"What, then?" said Socrates, "has life any contrary, as waking
has its contrary, sleeping?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he answered.</p>

<p>"What?"</p>

<p>"Death," he replied.</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page100' id='page100'></a>Are not
these, then, produced from each other, since they are contraries;
and are not the modes by which they are produced two-fold
intervening between these two?"</p>

<p>"How should it be otherwise?"</p>

<p>"I then," continued Socrates, "will describe to you one pair of
the contraries which I have just now mentioned, both what it is and
its mode of production: and do you describe to me the other. I say
that one is to sleep, the other to awake; and from sleeping awaking
is produced, and from awaking sleeping, and that the modes of their
production are, the one to fall asleep, the other to be roused. <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec44" name="phaedo_sec44">44</a>.
Have I sufficiently explained this to you or not?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"Do you, then," he said, "describe to me in the same manner with
respect to life and death? Do you not say that life is contrary to
death?"</p>

<p>"I do."</p>

<p>"And that they are produced from each other?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"What, then, is produced from life?"</p>

<p>"Death," he replied.</p>

<p>"What, then," said he "is produced from death?"</p>

<p>"I must needs confess," he replied, "that life is."</p>

<p>"From the dead, then, O Cebes! living things and living men are
produced."</p>

<p>"It appears so," he said.</p>

<p>"Our souls, therefore," said Socrates, "exist in Hades."</p>

<p>"So it seems."</p>

<p>"With respect, then, to their mode of production, is not one of
them very clear? for to die surely is clear, is it not?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p>

<p>"What, then, shall we do?" he continued; "shall we not <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page101' id='page101'></a>find a corresponding
contrary mode of production, or will nature be defective in this?
Or must we discover a contrary mode of production to dying?"</p>

<p>"By all means," he said.</p>

<p>"What is this?"</p>

<p>"To revive."</p>

<p>"Therefore," he proceeded, "if there is such a thing as to
revive, will not this reviving be a mode of production from the
dead to the living?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"Thus, then, we have agreed that the living are produced from
the dead, no less than the dead from the living; but, this being
the case, there appears to me sufficient proof that the souls of
the dead must necessarily exist somewhere, from whence they are
again produced."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec45" name=
"phaedo_sec45">45</a>. "It appears to me, Socrates," he said "that
this must necessarily follow from what has been admitted."</p>

<p>"See now, O Cebes!" he said, "that we have not agreed on these
things improperly, as it appears to me; for if one class of things
were not constantly given back in the place of another, revolving,
as it were, in a circle, but generation were direct from one thing
alone into its opposite, and did not turn round again to the other,
or retrace its course, do you know that all things would at length
have the same form, be in the same state, and cease to be
produced?"</p>

<p>"How say you?" he asked.</p>

<p>"It is by no means difficult," he replied, "to understand what I
mean; if, for instance, there should be such a thing as falling
asleep, but no reciprocal waking again produced from a state of
sleep, you know that at length all things would show the fable of
Endymion to be a jest, and it would be thought nothing at all of,
because everything else would be in the same state as
he&mdash;namely, asleep. And if all <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page102' id='page102'></a>things were mingled together, but never
separated, that doctrine of Anaxagoras would soon be verified, 'all
things would be together.' <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec46" name="phaedo_sec46">46</a>. Likewise, my dear Cebes,
if all things that partake of life should die, and after they are
dead should remain in this state of death, and not revive again,
would it not necessarily follow that at length all things should be
dead, and nothing alive? For if living beings are produced from
other things, and living beings die, what could prevent their being
all absorbed in death?"</p>

<p>"Nothing whatever, I think, Socrates," replied Cebes; "but you
appear to me to speak the exact truth."</p>

<p>"For, Cebes," he continued, "as it seems to me, such undoubtedly
is the case, and we have not admitted these things under a
delusion, for it is in reality true that there is a reviving again,
that the living are produced from the dead, that the souls of the
dead exist, and that the condition of the good is better, and of
the evil worse."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec47" name=
"phaedo_sec47">47</a>. "And, indeed," said Cebes, interrupting him,
"according to that doctrine, Socrates, which you are frequently in
the habit of advancing, if it is true, that our learning is nothing
else than reminiscence, according to this it is surely necessary
that we must at some former time have learned what we now remember.
But this is impossible, unless our soul existed somewhere before it
came into this human form; so that from hence, also, the soul
appears to be something immortal."</p>

<p>"But, Cebes," said Simmias, interrupting him, "what proofs are
there of these things? Remind me of them, for I do not very well
remember them at present."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec48" name=
"phaedo_sec48">48</a>. "It is proved," said Cebes, "by one
argument, and that a most beautiful one, that men, when questioned
(if one questions them properly) of themselves, describe all things
as they are, however, if they had not innate knowledge and <a
class='pagenumber' name='page103' id='page103'></a>right reason,
they would never be able to do this. Moreover, if one leads them to
diagrams, or any thing else of the kind, it is then most clearly
apparent that this is the case."</p>

<p>"But if you are not persuaded in this way, Simmias," said
Socrates, "see if you will agree with us in considering the matter
thus. For do you doubt how that which is called learning is
reminiscence?"</p>

<p>"I do not doubt," said Simmias; "but I require this very thing
of which we are speaking, to be reminded; and, indeed, from what
Cebes has begun to say, I almost now remember, and am persuaded;
nevertheless, however, I should like to hear now how you would
attempt to prove it."</p>

<p>"I do it thus" he replied: "we admit, surely, that if any one be
reminded of any thing, he must needs have known that thing at some
time or other before."</p>

<p>"Certainly," he said.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec49" name=
"phaedo_sec49">49</a>. "Do we, then, admit this also, that when
knowledge comes in a certain manner it is reminiscence? But the
manner I mean is this: if any one, upon seeing or hearing, or
perceiving through the medium of any other sense, some particular
thing, should not only know that, but also form an idea of
something else, of which the knowledge is not the same, but
different, should we not justly say that he remembered that of
which he received the idea?"</p>

<p>"How mean you?"</p>

<p>"For instance, the knowledge of a man is different from that of
a lyre."</p>

<p>"How not?"</p>

<p>"Do you not know, then, that lovers when they see a lyre, or a
garment, or any thing else which their favorite is accustomed to
use, are thus affected; they both recognize the lyre, and receive
in their minds the form of the person to whom the lyre belonged?
This is reminiscence: just as any <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page104' id='page104'></a>one, seeing Simmias, is often reminded
of Cebes, and so in an infinite number of similar instances."</p>

<p>"An infinite number, indeed, by Jupiter!" said Simmias.</p>

<p>"Is not, then," he said, "something of this sort a kind of
reminiscence, especially when one is thus affected with respect to
things which, from lapse of time, and not thinking of them, one has
now forgotten?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec50" name=
"phaedo_sec50">50</a>. "But what?" he continued. "Does it happen
that when one sees a painted horse or a painted lyre one is
reminded of a man, and that when one sees a picture of Simmias one
is reminded of Cebes?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"And does it not also happen that on seeing a picture of Simmias
one is reminded of Simmias himself?"</p>

<p>"It does, indeed," he replied.</p>

<p>"Does it not happen, then, according to all this, that
reminiscence arises partly from things like, and partly from things
unlike?"</p>

<p>"It does."</p>

<p>"But when one is reminded by things like, is it not necessary
that one should be thus further affected, so as to perceive
whether, as regards likeness, this falls short or not of the thing
of which one has been reminded?"</p>

<p>"It is necessary," he replied.</p>

<p>"Consider, then," said Socrates, "if the case is thus. Do we
allow that there is such a thing as equality? I do not mean of one
log with another, nor one stone with another, nor any thing else of
this kind, but something altogether different from all
these&mdash;abstract equality; do we allow that there is any such
thing, or not?"</p>

<p>"By Jupiter! we most assuredly do allow it," replied
Simmias.</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page105' id='page105'></a><a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec51" name="phaedo_sec51">51</a>. "And
do we know what it is itself?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p>

<p>"Whence have we derived the knowledge of it? Is it not from the
things we have just now mentioned, and that from seeing logs, or
stones, or other things of the kind, equal, we have from these
formed an idea of that which is different from these&mdash;for does
it not appear to you to be different? Consider the matter thus. Do
not stones that are equal, and logs sometimes that are the same,
appear at one time equal, and at another not?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"But what? Does abstract equality ever appear to you unequal? or
equality inequality?"</p>

<p>"Never, Socrates, at any time."</p>

<p>"These equal things, then," he said, "and abstract equality, are
not the same?"</p>

<p>"By no means, Socrates, as it appears."</p>

<p>"However, from these equal things," he said, "which are
different from that abstract equality, have you not formed your
idea and derived your knowledge of it?"</p>

<p>"You speak most truly," he replied.</p>

<p>"Is it not, therefore, from its being like or unlike them?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"But it makes no difference," he said. "When, therefore, on
seeing one thing, you form, from the sight of it, the notion of
another, whether like or unlike, this," he said, "must necessarily
be reminiscence."</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec52" name=
"phaedo_sec52">52</a>. "What, then, as to this?" he continued. "Are
we affected in any such way with regard to logs and the equal
things we have just now spoken of? And do they appear to us to be
equal in the same manner as abstract equality itself <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page106' id='page106'></a>is, or do they fall
short in some degree, or not at all, of being such as equality
itself is?"</p>

<p>"They fall far short," he replied.</p>

<p>"Do we admit, then, that when one, on beholding some particular
thing, perceives that it aims, as that which I now see, at being
like something else that exists, but falls short of it, and can not
become such as that is, but is inferior to it&mdash;do we admit
that he who perceives this must necessarily have had a previous
knowledge of that which he says it resembles, though
imperfectly?"</p>

<p>"It is necessary."</p>

<p>"What, then? Are we affected in some such way, or not, with
respect to things equal and abstract equality itself?"</p>

<p>"Assuredly."</p>

<p>"It is necessary, therefore, that we must have known abstract
equality before the time when, on first seeing equal things, we
perceived that they all aimed at resembling equality, but failed in
doing so."</p>

<p>"Such is the case."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec53" name=
"phaedo_sec53">53</a>. "Moreover, we admit this too, that we
perceived this, and could not possibly perceive it by any other
means than the sight, or touch, or some other of the senses, for I
say the same of them all."</p>

<p>"For they are the same, Socrates, so far as, our argument is
concerned."</p>

<p>"However, we must perceive, by means of the senses, that all
things which come under the senses aim at that abstract equality,
and yet fall short of it; or how shall we say it is?"</p>

<p>"Even so."</p>

<p>"Before, then, we began to see, and hear, and use our other
senses, we must have had a knowledge of equality itself&mdash;what
<a class='pagenumber' name='page107' id='page107'></a>it is, if we
were to refer to it those equal things that come under the senses,
and observe that all such things aim at resembling that, but fall
far short of it."</p>

<p>"This necessarily follows, Socrates, from what has been already
said."</p>

<p>"But did we not, as soon as we were born, see and hear, and
possess our other senses?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"But, we have said, before we possessed these, we must have had
a knowledge of abstract equality?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"We must have had it, then, as it seems, before we were
born."</p>

<p>"It seems so."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec54" name=
"phaedo_sec54">54</a>. "If, therefore, having this before we were
born, we were born possessing it, we knew, both before we were born
and as soon as we were born, not only the equal and the greater and
smaller, but all things of the kind; for our present discussion is
not more respecting equality than the beautiful itself, the good,
the just, and the holy, and, in one word, respecting every thing
which we mark with the seal of existence, both in the questions we
ask and the answers we give. So that we must necessarily have had a
knowledge of all these before we were born."</p>

<p>"Such is the case."</p>

<p>"And if, having once had it, we did not constantly forget it, we
should always be born with this knowledge, and should always retain
it through life. For to know is this, when one has got a knowledge
of any thing, to retain and not lose it; for do we not call this
oblivion, Simmias, the loss of knowledge?"</p>

<p>"Assuredly, Socrates," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec55" name=
"phaedo_sec55">55</a>. "But if, having had it before we were born,
we lose <a class='pagenumber' name='page108' id='page108'></a>it at
our birth, and afterward, through exercising the senses about these
things, we recover the knowledge which we once before possessed,
would not that which we call learning be a recovery of our own
knowledge? And in saying that this is to remember, should we not
say rightly?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"For this appeared to be possible, for one having perceived any
thing, either by seeing or hearing, or employing any other sense,
to form an idea of something different from this, which he had
forgotten, and with which this was connected by being unlike or
like. So that, as I said, one of these two things must follow:
either we are all born with this knowledge, and we retain it
through life, or those whom we say learn afterward do nothing else
than remember, and this learning will be reminiscence."</p>

<p>"Such, certainly, is the case, Socrates."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec56" name=
"phaedo_sec56">56</a>. "Which, then, do you choose, Simmias: that
we are born with knowledge, or that we afterward remember what we
had formerly known?"</p>

<p>"At present, Socrates, I am unable to choose."</p>

<p>"But what? Are you able to choose in this case, and what do you
think about it? Can a man who possesses knowledge give a reason for
the things that he knows, or not?"</p>

<p>"He needs must be able to do so, Socrates," he replied.</p>

<p>"And do all men appear to you to be able to give a reason for
the things of which we have just now been speaking?"</p>

<p>"I wish they could," said Simmias; "but I am much more afraid
that at this time to-morrow there will no longer be any one able to
do this properly."</p>

<p>"Do not all men, then, Simmias," he said, "seem to you to know
these things?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page109' id='page109'></a>By no
means."</p>

<p>"Do they remember, then, what they once learned?"</p>

<p>"Necessarily so."</p>

<p>"When did our souls receive this knowledge? Not surely, since we
were born into the world."</p>

<p>"Assuredly not."</p>

<p>"Before, then?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"Our souls, therefore, Simmias, existed before they were in a
human form, separate from bodies, and possessed intelligence."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec57" name=
"phaedo_sec57">57</a>. "Unless, Socrates, we receive this knowledge
at our birth, for this period yet remains."</p>

<p>"Be it so, my friend. But at what other time do we lose it? for
we are not born with it, as we have just now admitted. Do we lose
it, then, at the very time in which we receive it? Or can you
mention any other time?"</p>

<p>"By no means, Socrates; I was not aware that I was saying
nothing to the purpose."</p>

<p>"Does the case then stand thus with us, Simmias?" he proceeded:
"If those things which we are continually talking about really
exist, the beautiful, the good, and every such essence, and to this
we refer all things that come under the senses, as finding it to
have a prior existence, and to be our own, and if we compare these
things to it, it necessarily follows, that as these exist, so
likewise our soul exists even before we are born; but if these do
not exist, this discussion will have been undertaken in vain, is it
not so? And is there not an equal necessity both that these things
should exist, and our souls also, before we are born; and if not
the former, neither the latter?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec58" name=
"phaedo_sec58">58</a>. "Most assuredly, Socrates," said Simmias,
"there appears to me to be the same necessity; and the argument <a
class='pagenumber' name='page110' id='page110'></a>admirably tends
to prove that our souls exist before we are born, just as that
essence does which you have now mentioned. For I hold nothing so
clear to me as this, that all such things most certainly exist, as
the beautiful, the good, and all the rest that you just now spoke
of; and, so far as I am concerned, the case is sufficiently
demonstrated."</p>

<p>"But how does it appear to Cebes?" said Socrates; "for it is
necessary to persuade Cebes too."</p>

<p>"He is sufficiently persuaded, I think," said Simmias, "although
he is the most pertinacious of men in distrusting arguments. Yet I
think he is sufficiently persuaded of this, that our soul existed
before we were born. But whether, when we are dead, it will still
exist does not appear to me to have been demonstrated, Socrates,"
he continued; "but that popular doubt, which Cebes just now
mentioned, still stands in our way, whether, when a man dies, the
soul is not dispersed, and this is the end of its existence. <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec59" name="phaedo_sec59">59</a>.
For what hinders it being born, and formed from some other source,
and existing before it came into a human body, and yet, when it has
come, and is separated from this body, its then also dying itself,
and being destroyed?"</p>

<p>"You say well, Simmias," said Cebes; "for it appears that only
one half of what is necessary has been demonstrated&mdash;namely,
that our soul existed before we were born; but it is necessary to
demonstrate further, that when we are dead it will exist no less
than before we were born, if the demonstration is to be made
complete."</p>

<p>"This has been even now demonstrated, Simmias and Cebes," said
Socrates, "if you will only connect this last argument with that
which we before assented to, that every thing living is produced
from that which is dead. For if the soul exists before, and it is
necessary for it when it enters into life, and is born, to be
produced from nothing else than <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page111' id='page111'></a>death, and from being dead, how is it
not necessary for it also to exist after death, since it must needs
be produced again? <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec60" name=
"phaedo_sec60">60</a>. What you require, then, has been already
demonstrated. However, both you and Simmias appear to me as if you
wished to sift this argument more thoroughly, and to be afraid,
like children, lest, on the soul's departure from the body, the
winds should blow it away and disperse it, especially if one should
happen to die, not in a calm, but in a violent storm."</p>

<p>Upon this Cebes, smiling, said, "Endeavor to teach us better,
Socrates, as if we were afraid, or rather not as if we were afraid,
though perhaps there is some boy<a id="footnotetag30" name=
"footnotetag30" href="#footnote30"><sup>30</sup></a> within us who
has such a dread. Let us, then, endeavor to persuade him not to be
afraid of death, as of hobgoblins."</p>

<p>"But you must charm him every day," said Socrates, "until you
have quieted his fears."</p>

<p>"But whence, Socrates," he said, "can we procure a skillful
charmer for such a case, now that you are about to leave us?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec61" name=
"phaedo_sec61">61</a>. "Greece is wide, Cebes," he replied, "and in
it surely there are skillful men. There are also many barbarous
nations, all of which you should search through, seeking such a
charmer, sparing neither money nor toil, as there is nothing on
which you can more seasonably spend your money. You should also
seek for him among yourselves; for perhaps you could not easily
find any more competent than yourselves to do this."</p>

<p>"This shall be done," said Cebes; "but, if it is agreeable to
you, let us return to the point from whence we digressed."</p>

<p>"It will be agreeable to me, for how should it not?"</p>

<p>"You say well," rejoined Cebes.</p>

<p>"We ought, then," said Socrates, "to ask ourselves some <a
class='pagenumber' name='page112' id='page112'></a>such question as
this: to what kind of thing it appertains to be thus
affected&mdash;namely, to be dispersed&mdash;and for what we ought
to fear, lest it should be so affected, and for what not. And after
this we should consider which of the two the soul is, and in the
result should either be confident or fearful for our soul."</p>

<p>"You speak truly," said he.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec62" name=
"phaedo_sec62">62</a>. "Does it not, then, appertain to that which
is formed by composition, and is naturally compounded, to be thus
affected, to be dissolved in the same manner as that in which it
was compounded; and if there is any thing not compounded, does it
not appertain to this alone, if to any thing, not to be thus
affected?"</p>

<p>"It appears to me to be so," said Cebes.</p>

<p>"Is it not most probable, then, that things which are always the
same, and in the same state, are uncompounded, but that things
which are constantly changing, and are never in the same state, are
compounded?"</p>

<p>"To me it appears so."</p>

<p>"Let us return, then," he said, "to the subjects on which we
before discoursed. Whether is essence itself, of which we gave this
account that it exists, both in our questions and answers, always
the same, or does it sometimes change? Does equality itself, the
beautiful itself, and each several thing which is, ever undergo any
change, however small? Or does each of them which exists, being an
unmixed essence by itself, continue always the same, and in the
same state, and never undergo any variation at all under any
circumstances?"</p>

<p>"They must of necessity continue the same and in the same state,
Socrates," said Cebes.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec63" name=
"phaedo_sec63">63</a>. "But what shall we say of the many beautiful
things, such as men, horses, garments, or other things of the kind,
<a class='pagenumber' name='page113' id='page113'></a>whether equal
or beautiful, or of all things synonymous with them? Do they
continue the same, or, quite contrary to the former, are they never
at any time, so to say, the same, either with respect to themselves
or one another?"</p>

<p>"These, on the other hand," replied Cebes, "never continue the
same."</p>

<p>"These, then, you can touch, or see, or perceive by the other
senses; but those that continue the same, you can not apprehend in
any other way than by the exercise of thought; for such things are
invisible, and are not seen?"</p>

<p>"You say what is strictly true," replied Cebes.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec64" name=
"phaedo_sec64">64</a>. "We may assume, then, if you please," he
continued, "that there are two species of things; the one visible,
the other invisible?"</p>

<p>"We may," he said.</p>

<p>"And the invisible always continuing the same, but the visible
never the same?"</p>

<p>"This, too," he said, "we may assume."</p>

<p>"Come, then," he asked, "is there anything else belonging to us
than, on the one hand, body, and, on the other, soul?"</p>

<p>"Nothing else," he replied.</p>

<p>"To which species, then, shall we say the body is more like, and
more nearly allied?"</p>

<p>"It is clear to everyone," he said, "that it is to the
visible."</p>

<p>"But what of the soul? Is it visible or invisible?"</p>

<p>"It is not visible to men, Socrates," he replied.</p>

<p>"But we speak of things which are visible, or not so, to the
nature of men; or to some other nature, think you?"</p>

<p>"To that of men."</p>

<p>"What, then, shall we say of the soul&mdash;that it is visible,
or not visible?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page114' id='page114'></a>Not
visible."</p>

<p>"Is it, then, invisible?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"The soul, then, is more like the invisible than the body; and
the body, the visible?"</p>

<p>"It must needs be so, Socrates."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec65" name=
"phaedo_sec65">65</a>. "And did we not, some time since, say this
too, that the soul, when it employs the body to examine any thing,
either by means of the sight or hearing, or any other sense (for to
examine any thing by means of the body is to do so by the senses),
is then drawn by the body to things that never continue the same,
and wanders and is confused, and reels as if intoxicated, through
coming into contact with things of this kind?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"But when it examines anything by itself, does it approach that
which is pure, eternal, immortal, and unchangeable, and, as being
allied to it, continue constantly with it, so long as it subsists
by itself, and has the power, and does it cease from its wandering,
and constantly continue the same with respect to those things,
through coming into contact with things of this kind? And is this
affection of the soul called wisdom?"</p>

<p>"You speak," he said, "in every respect, well and truly,
Socrates."</p>

<p>"To which species of the two, then, both from what was before
and now said, does the soul appear to you to be more like and more
nearly allied?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec66" name=
"phaedo_sec66">66</a>. "Every one, I think, would allow, Socrates,"
he replied, "even the dullest person, from this method of
reasoning, that the soul is in every respect more like that which
continues constantly the same than that which does not so."</p>

<p>"But what as to the body?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page115' id='page115'></a>It is
more like the other."</p>

<p>"Consider it also thus, that, when soul and body are together,
nature enjoins the latter to be subservient and obey, the former to
rule and exercise dominion. And, in this way, which of the two
appears to you to be like the divine, and which the mortal? Does it
not appear to you to be natural that the divine should rule and
command, but the mortal obey and be subservient?"</p>

<p>"To me it does so."</p>

<p>"Which, then, does the soul resemble?"</p>

<p>"It is clear, Socrates, that the soul resembles the divine; but
the body, the mortal."</p>

<p>"Consider, then, Cebes," said he, "whether, from all that has
been said, these conclusions follow, that the soul is most like
that which is divine, immortal, intelligent, uniform, indissoluble,
and which always continues in the same state; but that the body, on
the other hand, is most like that which is human, mortal,
unintelligent, multiform, dissoluble, and which never continues in
the same state. Can we say any thing against this, my dear Cebes,
to show that it is not so?"</p>

<p>"We can not."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec67" name=
"phaedo_sec67">67</a>. "What, then? Since these things are so, does
it not appertain to the body to be quickly dissolved, but to the
soul, on the contrary, to be altogether indissoluble or nearly
so?"</p>

<p>"How not?"</p>

<p>"You perceive, however," he said, "that when a man dies, the
visible part of him, the body, which is exposed to sight, and which
we call a corpse, to which it appertains to be dissolved, to fall
asunder and be dispersed, does not immediately undergo any of these
affections, but remains for a considerable time, and especially so
if any one should die <a class='pagenumber' name='page116' id=
'page116'></a>with his body in full vigor, and at a corresponding
age;<a id="footnotetag31" name="footnotetag31" href=
"#footnote31"><sup>31</sup></a> for when the body has collapsed and
been embalmed, as those that are embalmed in Egypt, it remains
almost entire for an incredible length of time; and some parts of
the body, even though it does decay, such as the bones and nerves,
and every thing of that kind, are, nevertheless, as one may say,
immortal. Is it not so?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec68" name=
"phaedo_sec68">68</a>. "Can the soul, then, which is invisible, and
which goes to another place like itself, excellent, pure and
invisible, and therefore truly called the invisible world,<a id=
"footnotetag32" name="footnotetag32" href=
"#footnote32"><sup>32</sup></a> to the presence of a good and wise
God (whither, if God will, my soul also must shortly go)&mdash;can
this soul of ours, I ask, being such and of such a nature, when
separated from the body, be immediately dispersed and destroyed, as
most men assert? Far from it, my dear Cebes and Simmias. But the
case is much rather thus: if it is separated in a pure state,
taking nothing of the body with it, as not having willingly
communicated with it in the present life, but having shunned it,
and gathered itself within itself, as constantly studying this (but
this is nothing else than to pursue philosophy aright, and in
reality to study how to die easily), would not this be to study how
to die?"</p>

<p>"Most assuredly."</p>

<p>"Does not the soul, then, when in this state, depart to that
which resembles itself, the invisible, the divine, immortal and
wise? And on its arrival there, is it not its lot to be happy, free
from error, ignorance, fears, wild passions, and all the other
evils to which human nature is subject; <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page117' id='page117'></a>and, as is said of the initiated, does
it not in truth pass the rest of its time with the gods? Must we
affirm that it is so, Cebes, or otherwise?"</p>

<p>"So, by Jupiter!" said Cebes.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec69" name=
"phaedo_sec69">69</a>. "But, I think, if it departs from the body
polluted and impure, as having constantly held communion with the
body, and having served and loved it, and been bewitched by it,
through desires and pleasures, so as to think that there is nothing
real except what is corporeal, which one can touch and see, and
drink and eat, and employ for sensual purposes; but what is dark
and invisible to the eyes, which is intellectual and apprehended by
philosophy, having been accustomed to hate, fear, and shun this, do
you think that a soul thus affected can depart from the body by
itself, and uncontaminated?"</p>

<p>"By no means whatever," he replied.</p>

<p>"But I think it will be impressed with that which is corporeal,
which the intercourse and communion of the body, through constant
association and great attention, have made natural to it."</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"We must think, my dear Cebes, that this is ponderous and heavy,
earthly and visible, by possessing which such a soul is weighed
down, and drawn again into the visible world through dread of the
invisible and of Hades, wandering, as it is said, among monuments
and tombs, about which, indeed, certain shadowy phantoms of souls
have been seen, being such images as those souls produced which
have not departed pure from the body, but which partake of the
visible; on which account, also, they are visible."</p>

<p>"That is probable, Socrates."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec70" name=
"phaedo_sec70">70</a>. "Probable indeed, Cebes; and not that these
are the souls of the good, but of the wicked, which are compelled
<a class='pagenumber' name='page118' id='page118'></a>to wander
about such places, paying the penalty of their former conduct,
which was evil; and they wander about so long until, through the
desire of the corporeal nature that accompanies them, they are
again united to a body; and they are united, as is probable, to
animals having the same habits as those they have given themselves
up to during life."</p>

<p>"But what do you say these are, Socrates?"</p>

<p>"For instance, those who have given themselves up to gluttony,
wantonness and drinking, and have put no restraint on themselves,
will probably be clothed in the form of asses and brutes of that
kind. Do you not think so?"</p>

<p>"You say what is very probable."</p>

<p>"And that such as have set great value on injustice, tyranny and
rapine, will be clothed in the species of wolves, hawks and kites!
Where else can we say such souls go?"</p>

<p>"Without doubt," said Cebes, "into such as these."</p>

<p>"Is it not, then, evident," he continued, "as to the rest,
whither each will go, according to the resemblances of their
several pursuits?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec71" name=
"phaedo_sec71">71</a>. "It is evident," he replied. "How not?"</p>

<p>"Of these, then," he said, "are not they the most happy, and do
they not go to the best place, who have practiced that social and
civilized virtue which they call temperance and justice, and which
is produced from habit and exercise, without philosophy and
reflection?"</p>

<p>"In what respect are these the most happy?"</p>

<p>"Because it is probable that these should again migrate into a
corresponding civilized and peaceable kind of animals, such as bees
perhaps, or wasps, or ants, or even into the same human species
again, and from these become moderate men."</p>

<p>"It is probable."</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page119' id='page119'></a>But it is
not lawful for any one who has not studied philosophy, and departed
this life perfectly pure, to pass into the rank of gods, but only
for the true lover of wisdom. And on this account, my friends
Simmias and Cebes, those who philosophize rightly, abstain from all
bodily desires, and persevere in doing so, and do not give
themselves up to them, not fearing the loss of property and
poverty, as the generality of men and the lovers of wealth; nor,
again, dreading disgrace and ignominy, like those who are lovers of
power and honor, do they then abstain from them."</p>

<p>"For it would not become them to do so, Socrates," says
Cebes.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec72" name=
"phaedo_sec72">72</a>. "It would not, by Jupiter!" he rejoined.
"Wherefore, Cebes, they who care at all for their soul, and do not
spend their lives in the culture of their bodies, despising all
these, proceed not in the same way with them, as being ignorant
whither they are going, but, being convinced that they ought not to
act contrary to philosophy, but in accordance with the freedom and
purification she affords, they give themselves up to her direction,
following her wherever she leads."</p>

<p>"How, Socrates?"</p>

<p>"I will tell you," he replied. "The lovers of wisdom know that
philosophy, receiving their soul plainly bound and glued to the
body, and compelled to view things through this, as through a
prison, and not directly by herself, and sunk in utter ignorance,
and perceiving, too, the strength of the prison, that it arises
from desire, so that he who is bound as much as possible assists in
binding himself. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec73" name=
"phaedo_sec73">73</a>. I say, then, the lovers of wisdom know that
philosophy, receiving their soul in this state, gently exhorts it,
and endeavors to free it, by showing that the view of things by
means of the eyes is full of deception, as also is that through the
ears and the <a class='pagenumber' name='page120' id=
'page120'></a>other senses; persuading an abandonment of these so
far as it is not absolutely necessary to use them, and advising the
soul to be collected and concentrated within itself, and to believe
nothing else than herself, with respect to what she herself
understands of things that have a real subsistence; and to consider
nothing true which she views through the medium of others, and
which differ under different aspects;<a id="footnotetag33" name=
"footnotetag33" href="#footnote33"><sup>33</sup></a> for that a
thing of this kind is sensible and visible, but that what she
herself perceives is intelligible and invisible. The soul of the
true philosopher, therefore, thinking that she ought not to oppose
this deliverance, accordingly abstains as much as possible from
pleasures and desires, griefs and fears, considering that when any
one is exceedingly delighted or alarmed, grieved or influenced by
desire, he does not merely suffer such evil from these things as
one might suppose, such as either being sick or wasting his
property through indulging his desires; but that which is the
greatest evil, and the worst of all, this he suffers, and is not
conscious of it."</p>

<p>"But what is this evil, Socrates?" said Cebes.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec74" name=
"phaedo_sec74">74</a>. "That the soul of every man is compelled to
be either vehemently delighted or grieved about some particular
thing, and, at the same time, to consider that the thing about
which it is thus strongly affected is most real and most true,
though it is not so. But these are chiefly visible objects, are
they not?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"In this state of affection, then, is not the soul especially
shackled by the body?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page121' id='page121'></a>How
so?"</p>

<p>"Because each pleasure and pain, having a nail, as it were,
nails the soul to the body, and fastens it to it, and causes it to
become corporeal, deeming those things to be true whatever the body
asserts to be so. For, in consequence of its forming the same
opinions with the body, and delighting in the same things, it is
compelled, I think, to possess similar manners, and to be similarly
nourished; so that it can never pass into Hades in a pure state,
but must ever depart polluted by the body, and so quickly falls
again into another body, and grows up as if it were sown, and
consequently is deprived of all association with that which is
divine, and pure, and uniform."</p>

<p>"You speak most truly, Socrates," said Cebes.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec75" name=
"phaedo_sec75">75</a>. "For these reasons, therefore, Cebes, those
who are truly lovers of wisdom are moderate and resolute, and not
for the reasons that most people say. Do you think as they do?"</p>

<p>"Assuredly not."</p>

<p>"No, truly. But the soul of a philosopher would reason thus, and
would not think that philosophy ought to set it free, and that when
it is freed it should give itself up again to pleasures and pains,
to bind it down again, and make her work void, weaving a kind of
Penelope's web the reverse way. On the contrary, effecting a calm
of the passions, and following the guidance of reason, and being
always intent on this, contemplating that which is true and divine,
and not subject to opinion; and being nourished by it, it thinks
that it ought to live in this manner as long as it does live, and
that when it dies it shall go to a kindred essence, and one like
itself, and shall be free from human evils. From such a regimen as
this the soul has no occasion to fear, Simmias and Cebes, while it
strictly attends to these things, lest, <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page122' id='page122'></a>being torn to pieces at its departure
from the body, it should be blown about and dissipated by the
winds, and no longer have an existence anywhere."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec76" name=
"phaedo_sec76">76</a>. When Socrates had thus spoken, a long
silence ensued; and Socrates himself was pondering upon what had
been said, as he appeared, and so did most of us; but Cebes and
Simmias were conversing a little while with each other. At length
Socrates, perceiving them, said, "What think you of what has been
said? Does it appear to you to have been proved sufficiently? for
many doubts and objections still remain if any one will examine
them thoroughly. If, then, you are considering some other subject,
I have nothing to say; but if you are doubting about this, do not
hesitate both yourselves to speak and express your opinion, if it
appears to you in any respect that it might have been argued
better, and to call me in again to your assistance, if you think
you can be at all benefited by my help."</p>

<p>Upon this Simmias said, "Indeed, Socrates, I will tell you the
truth: for some time each of us, being in doubt, has been urging
and exhorting the other to question you, from a desire to hear our
doubts solved; but we were afraid of giving you trouble, lest it
should be disagreeable to you in your present circumstances."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec77" name=
"phaedo_sec77">77</a>. But he, upon hearing this, gently smiled,
and said, "Bless me, Simmias; with difficulty, indeed, could I
persuade other men that I do not consider my present condition a
calamity, since I am not able to persuade even you; but you are
afraid lest I should be more morose now than during the former part
of my life. And, as it seems, I appear to you to be inferior to
swans with respect to divination, who, when they perceive that they
must needs die, though they have been used to sing before, sing
then more than ever, rejoicing that they are about to depart to
that <a class='pagenumber' name='page123' id='page123'></a>deity
whose servants they are. But men, through their own fear of death,
belie the swans too, and say that they, lamenting their death, sing
their last song through grief; and they do not consider that no
bird sings when it is hungry or cold, or is afflicted with any
other pain, not even the nightingale, or swallow, or the hoopoes,
which, they say, sing lamenting through grief. But neither do these
birds appear to me to sing through sorrow, nor yet do swans; but,
in my opinion, belonging to Apollo, they are prophetic, and,
foreseeing the blessings of Hades, they sing and rejoice on that
day more excellently than at any preceding time. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec78" name="phaedo_sec78">78</a>. But
I, too, consider myself to be a fellow-servant of the swans, and
sacred to the same god; and that I have received the power of
divination from our common master no less than they, and that I do
not depart from this life with less spirits than they. On this
account, therefore, it is right that you should both speak and ask
whatever you please, so long as the Athenian Eleven permit."</p>

<p>"You say well," said Simmias, "and both I will tell you what are
my doubts, and he, in turn, how far he does not assent to what has
been said. For it appears to me, Socrates, probably as it does to
you with respect to these matters, that to know them clearly in the
present life is either impossible or very difficult: on the other
hand, however, not to test what has been said of them in every
possible way, so as not to desist until, on examining them in every
point of view, one has exhausted every effort, is the part of a
very weak man. For we ought, with respect to these things, either
to learn from others how they stand or to discover them for one's
self; or, if both these are impossible, then, taking the best of
human reasonings and that which is the most difficult to be
confuted, and embarking on this, as one who risks himself on a
raft, so to sail through life, unless <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page124' id='page124'></a>one could be carried more safely, and
with less risk, on a surer conveyance, or some divine reason. <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec79" name="phaedo_sec79">79</a>.
I, therefore, shall not now be ashamed to question you, since you
bid me do so, nor shall I blame myself hereafter for not having now
told you what I think; for to me, Socrates, when I consider the
matter, both with myself and with Cebes, what has been said does
not appear to have been sufficiently proved."</p>

<p>Then said Socrates, "Perhaps, my friend, you have the truth on
your side; but tell me in what respect it was not sufficiently
proved."</p>

<p>"In this," he answered, "because any one might use the same
argument with respect to harmony, and a lyre, and its chords, that
harmony is something invisible and incorporeal, very beautiful and
divine, in a well-modulated lyre; but the lyre and its chords are
bodies, and of corporeal form, compounded and earthly, and akin to
that which is mortal. When any one, then, has either broken the
lyre, or cut or burst the chords, he might maintain from the same
reasoning as yours that it is necessary the harmony should still
exist and not be destroyed; for there could be no possibility that
the lyre should subsist any longer when the chords are burst; and
that the chords, which are of a mortal nature, should subsist, but
that the harmony, which is of the same nature and akin to that
which is divine and immortal, should become extinct, and perish
before that which is mortal; but he might say that the harmony must
needs subsist somewhere, and that the wood and chords must decay
before it can undergo any change. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec80" name="phaedo_sec80">80</a>. For I think, Socrates,
that you yourself have arrived at this conclusion, that we consider
the soul to be pretty much of this kind&mdash;namely, that our body
being compacted and held together by heat and cold, dryness and
moisture, and other <a class='pagenumber' name='page125' id=
'page125'></a>such qualities, our soul is the fusion and harmony of
these, when they are well and duly combined with each other. If,
then, the soul is a kind of harmony, it is evident that when our
bodies are unduly relaxed or strained, through diseases and other
maladies, the soul must, of necessity, immediately perish, although
it is most divine, just as other harmonies which subsist in sounds
or in the various works of artisans; but that the remains of the
body of each person last for a long time, till they are either
burned or decayed. Consider, then, what we shall say to this
reasoning, if any one should maintain that the soul, being a fusion
of the several qualities in the body, perishes first in that which
is called death."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec81" name=
"phaedo_sec81">81</a>. Socrates, therefore, looking steadfastly at
us, as he was generally accustomed to do, and smiling, said,
"Simmias indeed speaks justly. If, then, any one of you is more
prompt than I am, why does he not answer, for he seems to have
handled my argument not badly? It appears to me, however, that
before we make our reply we should first hear from Cebes, what he,
too, objects to our argument, in order that, some time intervening,
we may consider what we shall say, and then when we have heard
them, we may give up to them, if they appear to speak agreeably to
truth; or, if not, we may then uphold our own argument. Come, then,
Cebes," he continued, "say what it is that disturbs you, so as to
cause your unbelief."</p>

<p>"I will tell you," said Cebes; "the argument seems to me to rest
where it was, and to be liable to the same objection that we
mentioned before. For, that our soul existed even before It came
into this present form, I do not deny has been very elegantly, and,
if it is not too much to say so, very fully, demonstrated; but that
it still exists anywhere when we are dead does not appear to me to
have been clearly proved; nor do I give in to the objection of
Simmias, that <a class='pagenumber' name='page126' id=
'page126'></a>the soul is not stronger and more durable than the
body, for it appears to me to excel very far all things of this
kind. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec82" name=
"phaedo_sec82">82</a>. 'Why, then,' reason might say, 'do you still
disbelieve? for, since you see that when a man dies his weaker part
still exists, does it not appear to you to be necessary that the
more durable part should still be preserved during this period?'
Consider, then, whether I say any thing to the purpose in reply to
this. For I, too, as well as Simmias, as it seems, stand in need of
an illustration; for the argument appears to me to have been put
thus, as if any one should advance this argument about an aged
weaver who had died, that the man has not yet perished, but perhaps
still exists somewhere; and, as a proof, should exhibit the garment
which he wore and had woven himself, that it is entire and has not
perished; and if any one should disbelieve him, he would ask, which
of the two is the more durable, the species of a man or of a
garment, that is constantly in use and being worn; then, should any
one answer that the species of man is much more durable, he would
think it demonstrated that, beyond all question, the man is
preserved, since that which is less durable has not perished. <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec83" name="phaedo_sec83">83</a>.
But I do not think, Simmias, that this is the case, and do you
consider what I say, for every one must think that he who argues
thus argues, foolishly. For this weaver, having worn and woven many
such garments, perished after almost all of them, but before the
last, I suppose; and yet it does not on this account follow any the
more that a man is inferior to or weaker than a garment. And I
think, the soul might admit this same illustration with respect to
the body, and he who should say the same things concerning them
would appear to me to speak correctly, that the soul is more
durable, but the body weaker and less durable; for he would say
that each soul wears out many bodies, especially <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page127' id='page127'></a>if it lives many
years; for if the body wastes and is dissolved while the man still
lives, but the soul continually weaves anew what is worn out, it
must necessarily follow that when the soul is dissolved it must
then have on its last garment, and perish before this alone; but
when the soul has perished the body would show the weakness of its
nature, and quickly rot and vanish. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec84" name="phaedo_sec84">84</a>. So that it is not by any
means right to place implicit reliance on this argument, and to
believe that when we die our soul still exists somewhere. For, if
any one should concede to him who admits even more than you do, and
should grant to him that not only did our soul exist before we were
born, but that even when we die nothing hinders the souls of some
of us from still existing, and continuing to exist hereafter, and
from being often born, and dying again&mdash;for so strong is it by
nature, that it can hold out against repeated births&mdash;if he
granted this, he would not yet concede that it does not exhaust
itself in its many births, and at length perish altogether in some
one of the deaths. But he would say that no one knows this death
and dissolution of the body, which brings destruction to the soul;
for it is impossible for any one of us to perceive it. If, however,
this be the case, it follows that every one who is confident at the
approach of death is foolishly confident, unless he is able to
prove that the soul is absolutely immortal and imperishable;
otherwise it necessarily follows that he who is about to die must
be alarmed for his soul, lest in its present disunion from the body
it should entirely perish."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec85" name=
"phaedo_sec85">85</a>. Upon this, all of us who had heard them
speaking were disagreeably affected, as we afterward mentioned to
each other; because, after we had been fully persuaded by the
former arguments, they seemed to disturb us anew, and to cast us
into a distrust, not only of the arguments already <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page128' id='page128'></a>adduced, but of such
as might afterward be urged, for fear lest we should not be fit
judges of anything, or lest the things themselves should be
incredible.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Echec.</span> By the gods!
Ph&aelig;do, I can readily excuse you; for, while I am now hearing
you, it occurs to me to ask myself some such question as this: What
arguments can we any longer believe? since the argument which
Socrates advanced, and which was exceedingly credible, has now
fallen into discredit. For this argument, that our soul is a kind
of harmony, produces a wonderful impression on me, both now and
always, and in being mentioned, it has reminded me, as it were,
that I, too, was formerly of the same opinion; so that I stand in
need again, as if from the very beginning, of some other argument
which may persuade me that the soul of one who dies does not die
with the body. Tell me, therefore, by Jupiter! how Socrates
followed up the argument; and whether he, too, as you confess was
the case with yourselves, seemed disconcerted at all, or not, but
calmly maintained his position; and maintained it sufficiently or
defectively. Relate everything to me as accurately as you can.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec86" name=
"phaedo_sec86">86</a>. <span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span>
Indeed, Echecrates, though I have often admired Socrates, I was
never more delighted than at being with him on that occasion. That
he should be able to say something is perhaps not at all
surprising; but I especially admired this in him&mdash;first of
all, that he listened to the argument of the young men so sweetly,
affably, and approvingly; in the next place, that he so quickly
perceived how we were affected by their arguments; and, lastly,
that he cured us so well and recalled us, when we were put to
flight, as it were, and vanquished, and encouraged us to accompany
him, and consider the argument with him.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Echec.</span> How was that?</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page129' id='page129'></a><span
class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> I will tell you: I happened
to be sitting at his right hand, near the bed, upon a low seat, but
he himself sat much higher than I. Stroking my head, then, and
laying hold of the hair that hung on my neck&mdash;for he used,
often, to play with my hairs&mdash;"To-morrow," he said, "perhaps,
Ph&aelig;do, you will cut off these beautiful locks?"</p>

<p>"It seems likely, Socrates," said I.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec87" name=
"phaedo_sec87">87</a>. "Not if you are persuaded by me."</p>

<p>"Why so?" I asked.</p>

<p>"To-day," he replied, "both I ought to cut off mine and you
yours, if our argument must die, and we are unable to revive it.
And I, if I were you, and the arguments were to escape me, would
take an oath, as the Argives do, not to suffer my hair to grow
until I had renewed the contest, and vanquished the arguments of
Simmias and Cebes."</p>

<p>"But," I said, "even Hercules himself is said not to have been a
match for two."</p>

<p>"Call upon me, then," he said, "as your Iolaus, while it is yet
day."</p>

<p>"I do call on you, then," I said, "not as Hercules upon Iolaus,
but as Iolaus upon Hercules."</p>

<p>"It will make no difference," he replied. "But, first of all, we
must beware lest we meet with some mischance."</p>

<p>"What?" I asked.</p>

<p>"That we do not become," he answered, "haters of reasoning, as
some become haters of men; for no greater evil can happen to any
one than to hate reasoning. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec88" name="phaedo_sec88">88</a>. But hatred of reasoning
and hatred of mankind both spring from the same source. For hatred
of mankind is produced in us from having placed too great reliance
on some one without sufficient knowledge of him, and from having
considered him to be a man altogether true, sincere, and faithful,
and then, after a little while, finding him depraved and <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page130' id='page130'></a>unfaithful, and after
him another. And when a man has often experienced this, and
especially from those whom he considered his most intimate and best
friends, at length, having frequently stumbled, he hates all men,
and thinks that there is no soundness at all in any of them. Have
you not perceived that this happens so?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," I replied.</p>

<p>"Is it not a shame?" he said "And is it not evident that such a
one attempts to deal with men without sufficient knowledge of human
affairs? For if he had dealt with them with competent knowledge, as
the case really is, so he would have considered that the good and
the bad are each very few in number, and that those between both
are most numerous."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec89" name=
"phaedo_sec89">89</a>. "How say you?" I asked.</p>

<p>"In the same manner," he replied, "as with things very little
and very large Do you think that any thing is more rare than to
find a very large on a very little man, or dog, or any thing else?
and, again, swift or slow, beautiful or ugly, white or black? Do
you not perceive that of all such things the extremes are rare and
few, but that the intermediate are abundant and numerous?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," I replied.</p>

<p>"Do you not think, then," he continued, "that if a contest in
wickedness were proposed, even here very few would be found
pre-eminent?"</p>

<p>"It is probable," I said.</p>

<p>"It is so," he said, "but in this respect reasonings do not
resemble men, for I was just now following you as my leader, but in
this they do resemble them, when any one believes in any argument
as true without being skilled in the art of reasoning, and then
shortly afterward it appears to him to be false, at one time being
so and at another time <a class='pagenumber' name='page131' id=
'page131'></a>not, and so on with one after another,<a id=
"footnotetag34" name="footnotetag34" href=
"#footnote34"><sup>34</sup></a> and especially they who devote
themselves to controversial arguments, you are aware, at length
think they have become very wise and have alone discovered that
there is nothing sound and stable either in things or reasonings
but that all things that exist, as is the case with the Euripus,
are in a constant state of flux and reflux, and never continue in
any one condition for any length of time."</p>

<p>"You speak perfectly true," I said.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec90" name=
"phaedo_sec90">90</a>. "Would it not, then, Ph&aelig;do" he said
"be a sad thing if, when there is a true and sound reasoning, and
such as one can understand, one should then, through lighting upon
such arguments as appear to be at one time true and at another
false, not blame one's self and one's own want of skill, but at
length, through grief, should anxiously transfer the blame from
one's self to the arguments, and thereupon pass the rest of one's
life in hating and reviling arguments and so be depraved of the
truth and knowledge of things that exist?"</p>

<p>"By Jupiter!" I said, "it would be sad, indeed."</p>

<p>"In the first place, then," he said, "let us beware of this, and
let us not admit into our souls the notion that there appears to be
nothing sound in reasoning, but much rather that we are not yet in
a sound condition, and that we ought vigorously and strenuously to
endeavor to become sound, you and the others, on account of your
whole future life, but I, on account of my death, since I am in
danger, at the <a class='pagenumber' name='page132' id=
'page132'></a>present time, of not behaving as becomes a
philosopher with respect to this very subject, but as a wrangler,
like those who are utterly uninformed <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec91" name="phaedo_sec91">91</a>. For they, when they
dispute about any thing, care nothing at all for the subject about
which the discussion is, but are anxious about this, that what they
have themselves advanced shall appear true to the persons present.
And I seem to myself on the present occasion to differ from them
only in this respect, for I shall not be anxious to make what I say
appear true to those who are present, except that may happen by the
way, but that it may appear certainly to be so to myself. For I
thus reason, my dear friend, and observe how interestedly. If what
I say be true, it is well to be persuaded of it, but if nothing
remains to one that is dead, I shall, at least, during the interval
before death be less disagreeable to those present by my
lamentations. But this ignorance of mine will not continue long,
for that would be bad, but will shortly be put an end to. Thus
prepared, then, Simmias and Cebes," he continued, "I now proceed to
my argument. Do you, however, if you will be persuaded by me, pay
little attention to Socrates, but much more to the truth, and if I
appear to you to say any thing true, assent to it, but if not,
oppose me with all your might, taking good care that in my zeal I
do not deceive both myself and you, and, like a bee, depart leaving
my sting behind."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec92" name=
"phaedo_sec92">92</a>. "But let us proceed," he said "First of all,
remind me of what you said, if I should appear to have forgotten it
For Simmias, as I think, is in doubt, and fears lest the soul,
though more divine and beautiful than the body, should perish
before it, as being a species of harmony. But Cebes appeared to me
to grant me this, that the soul is more durable than the body, but
he argued that it is uncertain to every one, whether when the soul
has worn out many bodies <a class='pagenumber' name='page133' id=
'page133'></a>and that repeatedly, it does not, on leaving the last
body, itself also perish, so that this very thing is death, the
destruction of the soul, since the body never ceases decaying Are
not these the things, Simmias and Cebes, which we have to inquire
into?"</p>

<p>They both agreed that they were.</p>

<p>"Whether, then," he continued "do you reject all our former
arguments, or some of them only, and not others?"</p>

<p>"Some we do," they replied, "and others not."</p>

<p>"What, then," he proceeded, "do you say about that argument in
which we asserted that knowledge is reminiscence, and that, this
being the case, our soul must necessarily have existed somewhere
before it was inclosed in the body?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec93" name=
"phaedo_sec93">93</a>. "I, indeed," replied Cebes "was both then
wonderfully persuaded by it, and now persist in it, as in no other
argument."</p>

<p>"And I, too," said Simmias, "am of the same mind, and should
very much wonder if I should ever think otherwise on that
point."</p>

<p>"Then," Socrates said, "you must needs think otherwise, my
Theban friend, if this opinion holds good, that harmony is
something compounded, and that the soul is a kind of harmony that
results from the parts compacted together in the body. For surely
you will not allow yourself to say that harmony was composed prior
to the things from which it required to be composed Would you allow
this?"</p>

<p>"By no means, Socrates" he replied.</p>

<p>"Do you perceive, then," he said, "that this result from what
you say, when you assert that the soul existed before it came into
a human form and body, but that it was composed from things that
did not yet exist? For harmony is not such as that to which you
compare it, but first the <a class='pagenumber' name='page134' id=
'page134'></a>lyre, and the chords, and the sounds yet
unharmonized, exist, and, last of all, harmony is produced, and
first perishes. How, then, will this argument accord with
that?"</p>

<p>"Not at all," said Simmias.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec94" name=
"phaedo_sec94">94</a>. "And yet," he said, "if in any argument,
there ought to be an accordance in one respecting harmony."</p>

<p>"There ought," said Simmias.</p>

<p>"This of yours, however," he said, "is not in accordance.
Consider, then, which of these two statements do you
prefer&mdash;that knowledge is reminiscence, or the soul
harmony?"</p>

<p>"The former by far, Socrates," he replied; "for the latter
occurred to me without demonstration, through a certain probability
and speciousness whence most men derive their opinions. But I am
well aware that arguments which draw their demonstrations from
probabilities are idle; and, unless one is on one's guard against
them, they are very deceptive, both in geometry and all other
subjects. But the argument respecting reminiscence and knowledge
may be said to have been demonstrated by a satisfactory hypothesis.
For in this way it was said that our soul existed before it came
into the body, because the essence that bears the appellation of
'that which is' belongs to it. But of this, as I persuade myself, I
am fully and rightly convinced. It is therefore necessary, as it
seems, that I should neither allow myself nor any one else to
maintain that the soul is harmony."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec95" name=
"phaedo_sec95">95</a>. "But what, Simmias," said he, "if you
consider it thus? Does it appear to you to appertain to harmony, or
to any other composition, to subsist in any other way than the very
things do of which it is composed?"</p>

<p>"By no means."</p>

<p>"And indeed, as I think, neither to do any thing, nor suffer any
thing else, besides what they do or suffer."</p>

<p><a class='pagenumber' name='page135' id='page135'></a>He
agreed.</p>

<p>"It does not, therefore, appertain to harmony to take the lead
of the things of which it is composed, but to follow them."</p>

<p>He assented.</p>

<p>"It is, then, far from being the case that harmony is moved or
sends forth sounds contrariwise, or is in any other respect opposed
to its parts?"</p>

<p>"Far, indeed," he said.</p>

<p>"What, then? Is not every harmony naturally harmony, so far as
it has been made to accord?"</p>

<p>"I do not understand you," he replied.</p>

<p>"Whether," he said, "if it should be in a greater degree and
more fully made to accord, supposing that were possible, would the
harmony be greater and more full; but if in a less degree and less
fully, then would it be inferior and less full?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"Is this, then, the case with the soul that, even in the
smallest extent, one soul is more fully and in a greater degree, or
less fully and in a less degree, this very thing, a soul, than
another?"</p>

<p>"In no respect whatever," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec96" name=
"phaedo_sec96">96</a>. "Well, then," he said, "by Jupiter! is one
soul said to possess intelligence and virtue, and to be good, and
another folly and vice, and to be bad? and is this said with
truth?"</p>

<p>"With truth, certainly."</p>

<p>"Of those, then, who maintain that the soul is harmony, what
will any one say that these things are in the soul, virtue and
vice? Will he call them another kind of harmony and discord, and
say that the one, the good soul, is harmonized, and, being harmony,
contains within itself another <a class='pagenumber' name='page136'
id='page136'></a>harmony, but that the other is discordant, and
does not contain within itself another harmony?"</p>

<p>"I am unable to say," replied Simmias; "but it is clear that he
who maintains that opinion would say something of the kind."</p>

<p>"But it has been already granted," said he, "that one soul is
not more or less a soul than another; and this is an admission that
one harmony is not to a greater degree or more fully, or to a less
degree or less fully, a harmony, than another; is it not so?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"And that that which is neither more or less harmony is neither
more nor less harmonized: is it so?"</p>

<p>"It is."</p>

<p>"But does that which is neither more or less harmonized partake
of more or less harmony, or an equal amount?"</p>

<p>"An equal amount."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec97" name=
"phaedo_sec97">97</a>. "A soul, therefore, since it is not more or
less this very thing, a soul, than another, is not more or less
harmonized?"</p>

<p>"Even so."</p>

<p>"Such, then, being its condition, it can not partake of a
greater degree of discord or harmony?"</p>

<p>"Certainly not."</p>

<p>"And, again, such being its condition, can one soul partake of a
greater degree of vice or virtue than another, if vice be discord,
and virtue harmony?"</p>

<p>"It can not."</p>

<p>"Or rather, surely, Simmias, according to right reason, no soul
will partake of vice, if it is harmony; for doubtless harmony,
which is perfectly such, can never partake of discord?"</p>

<p>"Certainly not."</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page137' id='page137'></a>Neither,
therefore, can a soul which is perfectly a soul partake of
vice."</p>

<p>"How can it, from what has been already said?"</p>

<p>"From this reasoning, then, all souls of all animals will be
equally good, if, at least, they are by nature equally this very
thing, souls?"</p>

<p>"It appears so to me, Socrates," he said.</p>

<p>"And does it appear to you," he said, "to have been thus rightly
argued, and that the argument would lead to this result, if the
hypothesis were correct, that the soul is harmony?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec98" name=
"phaedo_sec98">98</a>. "On no account whatever," he replied.</p>

<p>"But what," said he, "of all the things that are in man? Is
there any thing else that you say bears rule except the soul,
especially if it be wise?"</p>

<p>"I should say not."</p>

<p>"Whether by yielding to the passions in the body, or by opposing
them? My meaning is this: for instance, when heat and thirst are
present, by drawing it the contrary way, so as to hinder it from
drinking; and when hunger is present, by hindering it from eating;
and in ten thousand other instances we see the soul opposing the
desires of the body. Do we not?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"But have we not before allowed that if the soul were harmony,
it would never utter a sound contrary to the tension, relaxation,
vibration, or any other affection to which its component parts are
subject, but would follow, and never govern them?"</p>

<p>"We did allow it," he replied, "for how could we do
otherwise?"</p>

<p>"What, then? Does not the soul now appear to act quite the
contrary, ruling over all the parts from which any one <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page138' id='page138'></a>might say it subsists,
and resisting almost all of them through the whole of life, and
exercising dominion over them in all manner of ways; punishing some
more severely even with pain, both by gymnastics and medicine, and
others more mildly; partly threatening, and partly admonishing the
desires, angers and fears, as if, being itself of a different
nature, it were conversing with something quite different? <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec99" name="phaedo_sec99">99</a>.
Just as Homer has done in the Odyssey,<a id="footnotetag35" name=
"footnotetag35" href="#footnote35"><sup>35</sup></a> where he
speaks of Ulysses&mdash;'Having struck his breast, he chid his
heart in the following words: Bear up, my heart; ere this thou hast
borne far worse.' Do you think that he composed this in the belief
that the soul was harmony, and capable of being led by the passions
of the body, and not rather that it was able to lead and govern
them, as being something much more divine than to be compared with
harmony?"</p>

<p>"By Jupiter! Socrates, it appears so to me."</p>

<p>"Therefore, my excellent friend, it is on no account correct for
us to say that the soul is a kind of harmony; for, as it appears,
we should neither agree with Homer, that divine poet, nor with
ourselves."</p>

<p>"Such is the case," he replied.</p>

<p>"Be it so, then," said Socrates, "we have already, as it seems,
sufficiently appeased this Theban harmony. But how, Cebes, and by
what arguments, shall we appease this Cadmus?"<a id="footnotetag36"
name="footnotetag36" href="#footnote36"><sup>36</sup></a></p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec100" name=
"phaedo_sec100">100</a>. "You appear to me," replied Cebes, "to be
likely to find out; for you have made out this argument against
harmony wonderfully beyond my expectation. For when Simmias <a
class='pagenumber' name='page139' id='page139'></a>was saying what
his doubts were, I wondered very much whether any one would be able
to answer his reasoning. It, therefore, appeared to me
unaccountable that he did not withstand the very first onset of
your argument. I should not, therefore, be surprised if the
arguments of Cadmus met with the same fate."</p>

<p>"My good friend," said Socrates, "do not speak so boastfully,
lest some envious power should overthrow the argument that is about
to be urged. These things, however, will be cared for by the deity;
but let us, meeting hand to hand, in the manner of Homer, try
whether you say any thing to the purpose. This, then, is the sum of
what you inquire you require it to be proved that our soul is
imperishable and immortal; if a philosopher that is about to die,
full of confidence and hope that after death he shall be far
happier than if he had died after leading a different kind of life,
shall not entertain this confidence foolishly and vainly. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec101" name="phaedo_sec101">101</a>.
But to show that the soul is something strong and divine, and that
it existed before we men were born, you say not at all hinders, but
that all these things may evince, not its immortality, but that the
soul is durable, and existed an immense space of time before, and
knew and did many things. But that, for all this, it was not at all
the more immortal, but that its very entrance into the body of a
man was the beginning of its destruction, as if it were a disease;
so that it passes through this life in wretchedness, and at last
perishes in that which is called death. But you say that it is of
no consequence whether it comes into a body once or often, with
respect to our occasion of fear; for it is right he should be
afraid, unless he is foolish, who does not know, and can not give a
reason to prove, that the soul is immortal. Such, I think, Cebes,
is the sum of what you say; and I purposely repeat it often, that
nothing <a class='pagenumber' name='page140' id='page140'></a>may
escape us, and, if you please, you may add to or take from it."</p>

<p>Cebes replied, "I do not wish at present either to take from or
add to it; that is what I mean."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec102" name=
"phaedo_sec102">102</a>. Socrates, then having paused for some
time, and considered something within himself, said, "You inquire
into no easy matter, Cebes; for it is absolutely necessary to
discuss the whole question of generation and corruption. If you
please, then, I will relate to you what happened to me with
reference to them; and afterward, if any thing that I shall say
shall appear to you useful toward producing conviction on the
subject you are now treating of, make use of it."</p>

<p>"I do indeed wish it," replied Cebes.</p>

<p>"Hear my relation, then. When I was a young man, Cebes, I was
wonderfully desirous of that wisdom which they call a history of
nature; for it appeared to me to be a very sublime thing to know
the causes of every thing&mdash;why each thing is generated, why it
perishes, and why it exists. And I often tossed myself upward and
downward, considering first such things as these, whether when heat
and cold have undergone a certain corruption, as some say, then
animals are formed; and whether the blood is that by means of which
we think, or air, or fire, or none of these, but that it is the
brain that produces the perceptions of hearing, seeing, and
smelling; and that from these come memory and opinion; and from
memory and opinion, when in a state of rest, in the same way
knowledge is produced. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec103"
name="phaedo_sec103">103</a>. And, again, considering the
corruptions of these, and the affections incidental to the heavens
and the earth, I at length appeared to myself so unskillful in
these speculations that nothing could be more so. But I will give
you a sufficient proof of this; for I then became, by these very
speculations, <a class='pagenumber' name='page141' id=
'page141'></a>so very blind with respect to things which I knew
clearly before, as it appeared to myself and others, that I
unlearned even the things which I thought I knew before, both on
many other subjects and also this, why a man grows. For, before, I
thought this was evident to every one&mdash;that it proceeds from
eating and drinking; for that, when, from the food, flesh is added
to flesh, bone to bone, and so on in the same proportion, what is
proper to them is added to the several other parts, then the bulk
which was small becomes afterward large, and thus that a little man
becomes a big one. Such was my opinion at that time. Does it appear
to you correct?"</p>

<p>"To me it does," said Cebes.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec104" name=
"phaedo_sec104">104</a>. "Consider this further. I thought that I
had formed a right opinion, when, on seeing a tall man standing by
a short one, I judged that he was taller by the head, and in like
manner, one horse than another; and, still more clearly than this,
ten appeared to me to be more than eight by two being added to
them, and that two cubits are greater than one cubit by exceeding
it a half."</p>

<p>"But now," said Cebes, "what think you of these matters?"</p>

<p>"By Jupiter!" said he, "I am far from thinking that I know the
cause of these, for that I can not even persuade myself of this:
when a person has added one to one, whether the one to which the
addition has been made has become two, or whether that which has
been added, and that to which the addition has been made, have
become two by the addition of the one to the other. For I wonder
if, when each of these was separate from the other, each was one,
and they were not yet two; but when they have approached nearer
each other this should be the cause of their becoming
two&mdash;namely, the union by which they have been placed <a
class='pagenumber' name='page142' id='page142'></a>nearer one
another. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec105" name=
"phaedo_sec105">105</a>. Nor yet, if any person should divide one,
am I able to persuade myself that this, their division, is the
cause of its becoming two. For this cause is the contrary to the
former one of their becoming two; for then it was because they were
brought nearer to each other, and the one was added to the other;
but now it is because one is removed and separated from the other.
Nor do I yet persuade myself that I know why one is one, nor, in a
word, why any thing else is produced, or perishes, or exists,
according to this method of proceeding; but I mix up another method
of my own at random, for this I can on no account give in to."</p>

<p>"But, having once heard a person reading from a book, written,
as he said, by Anaxagoras, and which said that it is intelligence
that sets in order and is the cause of all things, I was delighted
with this cause, and it appeared to me in a manner to be well that
intelligence should be the cause of all things, and I considered
with myself, if this is so, that the regulating intelligence orders
all things, and disposes each in such way as will be best for it.
<a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec106" name=
"phaedo_sec106">106</a>. If any one, then, should desire to
discover the cause of every thing, in what way it is produced, or
perishes, or exists, he must discover this respecting it&mdash;in
what way it is best for it either to exist, or to suffer, or do any
thing else. From this mode of reasoning, then, it is proper that a
man should consider nothing else, both with respect to himself and
others, than what is most excellent and best; and it necessarily
follows that this same person must also know that which is worst,
for that the knowledge of both of them is the same. Thus reasoning
with myself, I was delighted to think I had found in Anaxagoras a
preceptor who would instruct me in the causes of things, agreeably
to my own mind, and that he would inform me, first, whether the
earth is flat or round, <a class='pagenumber' name='page143' id=
'page143'></a>and, when he had informed me, would, moreover,
explain the cause and necessity of its being so, arguing on the
principle of the better, and showing that it is better for it to be
such as it is; and if he should say that it is in the middle, that
he would, moreover, explain how it is better for it to be in the
middle; and if he should make all this clear to me, I was prepared
no longer to require any other species of cause. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec107" name="phaedo_sec107">107</a>. I
was in like manner prepared to inquire respecting the sun and moon
and the other stars, with respect to their velocities in reference
to each other, and their revolutions and other conditions, in what
way it is better for both to act and be affected as it does and is.
For I never thought that after he had said that these things were
set in order by intelligence, he would introduce any other cause
for them than that it is best for them to be as they are. Hence, I
thought, that in assigning the cause to each of them, and to all in
common, he would explain that which is best for each, and the
common good of all. And I would not have given up my hopes for a
good deal; but, having taken up his books with great eagerness, I
read through them as quickly as I could, that I might as soon as
possible know the best and the worst."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec108" name=
"phaedo_sec108">108</a>. "From this wonderful hope, however, my
friend, I was speedily thrown down, when, as I advance and read
over his works, I meet with a man who makes no use of intelligence,
nor assigns any causes for the ordering of all things, but makes
the causes to consist of air, ether, and water, and many other
things equally absurd. And he appeared to me to be very like one
who should say that whatever Socrates does he does by intelligence,
and then, attempting to describe the causes of each particular
action, should say, first of all, that for this reason I am now
sitting here, because my body is composed of bones and sinews <a
class='pagenumber' name='page144' id='page144'></a>and that the
bones are hard, and have joints separate from each other, but that
the sinews, being capable of tension and contraction, cover the
bones, together with the flesh and skin which contain them. The
bones, therefore, being suspended in their sockets, the nerves,
relaxing and tightening, enable me to bend my limbs as I now do,
and from this cause I sit here bent up. <a class="sectionnumber"
id="phaedo_sec109" name="phaedo_sec109">109</a>. And if, again, he
should assign other similar causes for my conversing with you,
assigning as causes voice, and air, and hearing, and ten thousand
other things of the kind, omitting to mention the real causes, that
since it appeared better to the Athenians to condemn me, I
therefore thought it better to sit here, and more just to remain
and submit to the punishment which they have ordered; for, by the
dog! I think these sinews and bones would have been long ago either
in Megara or Boeotia, borne thither by an opinion of that which is
best, if I had not thought it more just and honorable to submit to
whatever sentence the city might order than to flee and run
stealthily away. But to call such things causes is too absurd. But
if any one should say that without possessing such things as bones
and sinews, and whatever else I have, I could not do what I
pleased, he would speak the truth; but to say that I do as I do
through them, and that I act thus by intelligence, and not from the
choice of what is best, would be a great and extreme disregard of
reason. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec110" name=
"phaedo_sec110">110</a>. For this would be not to be able to
distinguish that the real cause is one thing, and that another,
without which a cause could not be a cause; which, indeed, the
generality of men appear to me to do, fumbling, as it were, in the
dark, and making use of strange names, so as to denominate them as
the very cause. Wherefore one encompassing the earth with a vortex
from heaven makes the earth remain fixed; but another, as if it
were a broad trough, rests it upon the <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page145' id='page145'></a>air as its base; but the power by which
these things are now so disposed that they may be placed in the
best manner possible, this they neither inquire into, nor do they
think that it requires any superhuman strength; but they think they
will some time or other find out an Atlas stronger and more
immortal than this, and more capable of containing all things; and
in reality, the good, and that which ought to hold them together
and contain them, they take no account of at all. I, then, should
most gladly have become the disciple of any one who would teach me
of such a cause, in what way it is. But when I was disappointed of
this, and was neither able to discover it myself, nor to learn it
from another, do you wish, Cebes, that I should show you in what
way I set out upon a second voyage in search of the cause?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec111" name=
"phaedo_sec111">111</a>. "I wish it exceedingly," he replied.</p>

<p>"It appeared to me, then," said he, "after this, when I was
wearied with considering things that exist, that I ought to beware
lest I should suffer in the same way as they do who look at and
examine an eclipse of the sun, for some lose the sight of their
eyes, unless they behold its image in water, or some similar
medium. And I was affected with a similar feeling, and was afraid
lest I should be utterly blinded in my soul through beholding
things with the eyes, and endeavoring to grasp them by means of the
several senses. It seemed to me, therefore, that I ought to have
recourse to reasons, and to consider in them the truth of things.
Perhaps, however, this similitude of mine may in some respect be
incorrect; for I do not altogether admit that he who considers
things in their reasons considers them in their images, more than
he does who views them in their effects. However, I proceeded thus,
and on each occasion laying down the reason, which I deem to be the
strongest, whatever <a class='pagenumber' name='page146' id=
'page146'></a>things appear to me to accord with this I regard as
true, both with respect to the cause and every thing else; but such
as do not accord I regard as not true. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec112" name="phaedo_sec112">112</a>. But I wish to explain
my meaning to you in a clearer manner; for I think that you do not
yet understand me."</p>

<p>"No, by Jupiter!" said Cebes, "not well."</p>

<p>"However," continued he, "I am now saying nothing new, but what
I have always at other times, and in a former part of this
discussion, never ceased to say. I proceed, then, to attempt to
explain to you that species of cause which I have busied myself
about, and return again to those well-known subjects, and set out
from them, laying down as an hypothesis, that there is a certain
abstract beauty, and goodness, and magnitude, and so of all other
things; which if you grant me, and allow that they do exist, I hope
that I shall be able from these to explain the cause to you, and to
discover that the soul is immortal."</p>

<p>"But," said Cebes, "since I grant you this, you may draw your
conclusion at once."</p>

<p>"But consider," he said, "what follows from thence, and see if
you can agree with me. For it appears to me that if there is any
thing else beautiful besides beauty itself, it is not beautiful for
any other reason than because it partakes of that abstract beauty;
and I say the same of every thing. Do you admit such a cause?"</p>

<p>"I do admit it," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec113" name=
"phaedo_sec113">113</a>. "I do not yet understand," he continued,
"nor am I able to conceive, those other wise causes; but if any one
should tell me why any thing is beautiful, either because it has a
blooming florid color, or figure, or any thing else of the kind, I
dismiss all other reasons, for I am confounded by them all; but I
simply, wholly, and perhaps foolishly, confine myself to this, that
nothing else causes it to be beautiful <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page147' id='page147'></a>except either the presence or
communication of that abstract beauty, by whatever means and in
whatever way communicated; for I can not yet affirm this with
certainty, but only that by means of beauty all beautiful things
become beautiful. For this appears to me the safest answer to give
both to myself and others; and adhering to this, I think that I
shall never fall, but that it is a safe answer both for me and any
one else to give&mdash;that by means of beauty beautiful things
become beautiful. Does it not also seem so to you?"</p>

<p>"It does."</p>

<p>"And that by magnitude great things become great, and greater
things, greater; and by littleness less things become less?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec114" name=
"phaedo_sec114">114</a>. "You would not, then, approve of it, if
any one said that one person is greater than another by the head,
and that the less is less by the very same thing; but you would
maintain that you mean nothing else than that every thing that is
greater than another is greater by nothing else than magnitude, and
that it is greater on this account&mdash;that is, on account of
magnitude; and that the less is less by nothing else than
littleness, and on this account less&mdash;that is, on account of
littleness; being afraid, I think, lest some opposite argument
should meet you if you should say that any one is greater and less
by the head; as, first, that the greater is greater, and the less
less, by the very same thing; and, next, that the greater is
greater by the head, which is small; and that it is monstrous to
suppose that any one is great through something small. Should you
not be afraid of this?"</p>

<p>To which said Cebes, smilingly, "Indeed, I should."</p>

<p>"Should you not, then," he continued, "be afraid to say that ten
is more than eight by two, and for this cause exceeds <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page148' id='page148'></a>it, and not by number,
and on account of number? and that two cubits are greater than one
cubit by half, and not by magnitude (for the fear is surely the
same)?"</p>

<p>"Certainly," he replied.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec115" name=
"phaedo_sec115">115</a>. "What, then? When one has been added to
one, would you not beware of saying that the addition is the cause
of its being two, or division when it has been divided; and would
you not loudly assert that you know no other way in which each
thing subsists, than by partaking of the peculiar essence of each
of which it partakes, and that in these cases you can assign no
other cause of its becoming two than its partaking of duality; and
that such things as are to become two must needs partake of this,
and what is to become one, of unity; but these divisions and
additions, and other such subtleties, you would dismiss, leaving
them to be given as answers by persons wiser than yourself; whereas
you, fearing, as it is said, your own shadow and inexperience,
would adhere to this safe hypothesis, and answer accordingly? But
if any one should assail this hypothesis of yours, would you not
dismiss him, and refrain from answering him till you had considered
the consequences resulting from it, whether in your opinion they
agree with or differ from each other? But when it should be
necessary for you to give a reason for it, would you give one in a
similar way, by again laying down another hypothesis, which should
appear the best of higher principles, until you arrived at
something satisfactory; but, at the same time, you would avoid
making confusion, as disputants do, in treating of the first
principle and the results arising from it, if you really desire to
arrive at the truth of things? <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec116" name="phaedo_sec116">116</a>. For they, perhaps,
make no account at all of this, nor pay any attention to it; for
they are able, through their wisdom, to mingle all things together,
and at the same time please themselves. But you, <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page149' id='page149'></a>if you are a
philosopher, would act, I think, as I now describe."</p>

<p>"You speak most truly," said Simmias and Cebes together.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Echec.</span> By Jupiter! Ph&aelig;do,
they said so with good reason; for he appears to me to have
explained these things with wonderful clearness, even to one endued
with a small degree of intelligence.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Ph&aelig;d.</span> Certainly,
Echecrates, and so it appeared to all who were present.</p>

<p><span class="speakername">Echec.</span> And so it appears to me,
who was absent, and now hear it related. But what was said after
this?</p>

<p>As well as I remember, when these things had been granted him,
and it was allowed that each several idea exists of itself,<a id=
"footnotetag37" name="footnotetag37" href=
"#footnote37"><sup>37</sup></a> and that other things partaking of
them receive their denomination from them, he next asked: "If,
then," he said, "you admit that things are so, whether, when you
say that Simmias is greater than Socrates, but less than
Ph&aelig;do, do you not then say that magnitude and littleness are
both in Simmias?"</p>

<p>"I do."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec117" name=
"phaedo_sec117">117</a>. "And yet," he said, "you must confess that
Simmias's exceeding Socrates is not actually true in the manner in
which the words express it; for Simmias does not naturally exceed
Socrates in that he is Simmias, but in consequence of the magnitude
which he happens to have; nor, again, does he exceed Socrates
because Socrates is Socrates, but because Socrates possesses
littleness in comparison with his magnitude?"</p>

<p>"True."</p>

<p>"Nor, again, is Simmias exceeded by Ph&aelig;do, because <a
class='pagenumber' name='page150' id='page150'></a>Ph&aelig;do is
Ph&aelig;do, but because Ph&aelig;do possesses magnitude in
comparison with Simmias's littleness?"</p>

<p>"It is so."</p>

<p>"Thus, then, Simmias has the appellation of being both little
and great, being between both, by exceeding the littleness of one
through his own magnitude, and to the other yielding a magnitude
that exceeds his own littleness." And at the same time, smiling, he
said, "I seem to speak with the precision of a short-hand writer;
however, it is as I say."</p>

<p>He allowed it.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec118" name=
"phaedo_sec118">118</a>. "But I say it for this reason, wishing you
to be of the same opinion as myself. For it appears to me, not only
that magnitude itself is never disposed to be at the same time
great and little, but that magnitude in us never admits the little
nor is disposed to be exceeded, but one of two things, either to
flee and withdraw when its contrary, the little, approaches it, or,
when it has actually come, to perish; but that it is not disposed,
by sustaining and receiving littleness, to be different from what
it was. Just as I, having received and sustained littleness, and
still continuing the person that I am, am this same little person;
but that, while it is great, never endures to be little. And, in
like manner, the little that is in us is not disposed at any time
to become or to be great, nor is any thing else among contraries,
while it continues what it was, at the same time disposed to become
and to be its contrary; but in this contingency it either departs
or perishes."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec119" name=
"phaedo_sec119">119</a>. "It appears so to me," said Cebes, "in
every respect."</p>

<p>But some one of those present, on hearing this, I do not clearly
remember who he was, said, "By the gods! was not the very contrary
of what is now asserted admitted in the former part of our
discussion, that the greater is produced <a class='pagenumber'
name='page151' id='page151'></a>from the less, and the less from
the greater, and, in a word, that the very production of contraries
is from contraries? But now it appears to me to be asserted that
this can never be the case."</p>

<p>Upon this Socrates, having leaned his head forward and listened,
said, "You have reminded me in a manly way; you do not, however,
perceive the difference between what is now and what was then
asserted. For then it was said that a contrary thing is produced
from a contrary; but now, that a contrary can never become contrary
to itself&mdash;neither that which is in us, nor that which is in
nature. For then, my friend, we spoke of things that have
contraries, calling them by the appellation of those things; but
now we are speaking of those very things from the presence of which
things so called receive their appellation, and of these very
things we say that they are never disposed to admit of production
from each other." <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec120" name=
"phaedo_sec120">120</a>. And, at the same time looking at Cebes,
"Has anything that has been said, Cebes, disturbed you?"</p>

<p>"Indeed," said Cebes, "I am not at all so disposed; however, I
by no means say that there are not many things that disturb
me."</p>

<p>"Then," he continued, "we have quite agreed to this, that a
contrary can never be contrary to itself."</p>

<p>"Most certainly," he replied.</p>

<p>"But, further," he said, "consider whether you will agree with
me in this also. Do you call heat and cold any thing?"</p>

<p>"I do."</p>

<p>"The same as snow and fire?"</p>

<p>"By Jupiter! I do not."</p>

<p>"But heat is something different from fire, and cold something
different from snow?"</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page152' id='page152'></a>Yes."</p>

<p>"But this, I think, is apparent to you&mdash;that snow, while it
is snow, can never, when it has admitted heat, as we said before,
continue to be what it was, snow and hot; but, on the approach of
heat, it must either withdraw or perish?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"And, again, that fire, when cold approaches it, must either
depart or perish; but that it will never endure, when it has
admitted coldness, to continue what it was, fire and cold?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec121" name=
"phaedo_sec121">121</a>. "You speak truly," he said.</p>

<p>"It happens, then," he continued, "with respect to some of such
things, that not only is the idea itself always thought worthy of
the same appellation, but likewise something else which is not,
indeed, that idea itself, but constantly retains its form so long
as it exists. What I mean will perhaps be clearer in the following
examples: the odd in number must always possess the name by which
we now call it, must it not?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"Must it alone, of all things&mdash;for this I ask&mdash;or is
there any thing else which is not the same as the odd, but yet
which we must always call odd, together with its own name, because
it is so constituted by nature that it can never be without the
odd? But this, I say, is the case with the number three, and many
others. For consider with respect to the number three: does it not
appear to you that it must always be called by its own name, as
well as by that of the odd, which is not the same as the number
three? Yet such is the nature of the number three, five, and the
entire half of number, that though they are not the same as the
odd, yet each of them is always odd. And, again, two and four, and
the whole other series of number, though not the same <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page153' id='page153'></a>as the even, are
nevertheless each of them always even: do you admit this, or
not?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec122" name=
"phaedo_sec122">122</a>. "How should I not?" he replied.</p>

<p>"Observe then," said he, "what I wish to prove. It is
this&mdash;that it appears not only that these contraries do not
admit each other, but that even such things as are not contrary to
each other, and yet always possess contraries, do not appear to
admit that idea which is contrary to the idea that exists in
themselves, but, when it approaches, perish or depart. Shall we not
allow that the number three would first perish, and suffer any
thing whatever, rather than endure, while it is still three, to
become even?"</p>

<p>"Most certainly," said Cebes.</p>

<p>"And yet," said he, "the number two is not contrary to
three."</p>

<p>"Surely not."</p>

<p>"Not only, then, do ideas that are contrary never allow the
approach of each other, but some other things also do not allow the
approach of contraries."</p>

<p>"You say very truly," he replied.</p>

<p>"Do you wish, then," he said, "that, if we are able, we should
define what these things are?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"Would they not then, Cebes," he said, "be such things as,
whatever they occupy, compel that thing not only to retain its own
idea, but also that of something which is always a contrary?"</p>

<p>"How do you mean?"</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec123" name=
"phaedo_sec123">123</a>. "As we just now said. For you know,
surely, that whatever things the idea of three occupies must of
necessity not only be three, but also odd?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page154' id='page154'></a>To such a
thing, then, we assert, that the idea contrary to that form which
constitutes this can never come."</p>

<p>"It can not."</p>

<p>"But did the odd make it so?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"And is the contrary to this the idea of the even?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"The idea of the even, then, will never come to the three?"</p>

<p>"No, surely."</p>

<p>"Three, then, has no part in the even?"</p>

<p>"None whatever."</p>

<p>"The number three is uneven?"</p>

<p>"Yes."</p>

<p>"What, therefore, I said should be defined&mdash;namely, what
things they are which, though not contrary to some particular
thing, yet do not admit of the contrary itself; as, in the present
instance, the number three, though not contrary to the even, does
not any the more admit it, for it always brings the contrary with
it, just as the number two does to the odd, fire to cold, and many
other particulars. Consider, then, whether you would thus define,
not only that a contrary does not admit a contrary, but also that
that which brings with it a contrary to that to which it approaches
will never admit the contrary of that which it brings with it. <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec124" name=
"phaedo_sec124">124</a>. But call it to mind again, for it will not
be useless to hear it often repeated. Five will not admit the idea
of the even, nor ten, its double, that of the odd. This double,
then, though it is itself contrary to something else,<a id=
"footnotetag38" name="footnotetag38" href=
"#footnote38"><sup>38</sup></a> yet will not admit the idea of the
odd, nor will half as much again, nor other things of the kind,
such as the <a class='pagenumber' name='page155' id=
'page155'></a>half and the third part, admit the idea of the whole,
if you follow me, and agree with me that it is so."</p>

<p>"I entirely agree with you," he said, "and follow you."</p>

<p>"Tell me again, then," he said, "from the beginning; and do not
answer me in the terms in which I put the question, but in
different ones, imitating my example. For I say this because,
besides that safe mode of answering which I mentioned at first,<a
id="footnotetag39" name="footnotetag39" href=
"#footnote39"><sup>39</sup></a> from what has now been said, I see
another no less safe one. For if you should ask me what that is
which, if it be in the body, will cause it to be hot, I should not
give you that safe but unlearned answer, that it is heat, but one
more elegant, from what we have just now said, that it is fire;
nor, if you should ask me what that is which, if it be in the body,
will cause it to be diseased, should I say that it is disease, but
fever; nor if you should ask what that is which, if it be in
number, will cause it to be odd, should I say that it is
unevenness, but unity; and so with other things. But consider
whether you sufficiently understand what I mean."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec125" name=
"phaedo_sec125">125</a>. "Perfectly so," he replied.</p>

<p>"Answer me, then," he said, "what that is which, when it is in
the body, the body will be alive?"</p>

<p>"Soul," he replied.</p>

<p>"Is not this, then, always the case?"</p>

<p>"How should it not be?" said he.</p>

<p>"Does the soul, then, always bring life to whatever it
occupies?"</p>

<p>"It does indeed," he replied.</p>

<p>"Whether, then, is there any thing contrary to life or not?"</p>

<p>"There is," he replied.</p>

<p>"What?"</p>

<p>"Death."</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page156' id='page156'></a>The soul,
then, will never admit the contrary of that which it brings with
it, as has been already allowed?"</p>

<p>"Most assuredly," replied Cebes.</p>

<p>"What, then? How do we denominate that which does not admit the
idea of the even?"</p>

<p>"Uneven," he replied.</p>

<p>"And that which does not admit the just, nor the musical?"</p>

<p>"Unmusical," he said, "and unjust."</p>

<p>"Be it so. But what do we call that which does not admit
death?"</p>

<p>"Immortal," he replied.</p>

<p>"Therefore, does not the soul admit death?"</p>

<p>"No."</p>

<p>"Is the soul, then, immortal?"</p>

<p>"Immortal."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec126" name=
"phaedo_sec126">126</a>. "Be it so," he said. "Shall we say, then,
that this has been now demonstrated? or how think you?"</p>

<p>"Most completely, Socrates."</p>

<p>"What, then," said he, "Cebes, if it were necessary for the
uneven to be imperishable, would the number three be otherwise than
imperishable?"</p>

<p>"How should it not?"</p>

<p>"If, therefore, it were also necessary that what is without heat
should be imperishable, when any one should introduce heat to snow,
would not the snow withdraw itself, safe and unmelted? For it would
not perish; nor yet would it stay and admit the heat."</p>

<p>"You say truly," he replied.</p>

<p>"In like manner, I think, if that which is insusceptible of cold
were imperishable, that when any thing cold approached the fire, it
would neither be extinguished nor perish, but would depart quite
safe."</p>

<p>"<a class='pagenumber' name='page157' id='page157'></a>Of
necessity," he said.</p>

<p>"Must we not, then, of necessity," he continued, "speak thus of
that which is immortal? if that which is immortal is imperishable,
it is impossible for the soul to perish, when death approaches it.
For, from what has been said already, it will not admit death, nor
will ever be dead; just as we said that three will never be even,
nor, again, will the odd; nor will fire be cold, nor yet the heat
that is in fire. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec127" name=
"phaedo_sec127">127</a>. But some one may say, what hinders, though
the odd can never become even by the approach of the even, as we
have allowed, yet, when the odd is destroyed, that the even should
succeed in its place? We could not contend with him who should make
this objection that it is not destroyed, for the uneven is not
imperishable; since, if this were granted us, we might easily have
contended that, on the approach of the even, the odd and the three
depart; and we might have contended in the same way with respect to
fire, heat, and the rest, might we not?"</p>

<p>"Certainly."</p>

<p>"Wherefore, with respect to the immortal, if we have allowed
that it is imperishable, the soul, in addition to its being
immortal, must also be imperishable; if not, there will be need of
other arguments."</p>

<p>"But there is no need," he said, "so far as that is concerned;
for scarcely could any thing not admit of corruption, if that which
is immortal and eternal is liable to it."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec128" name=
"phaedo_sec128">128</a>. "The deity, indeed, I think," said
Socrates, "and the idea itself of life, and if anything else is
immortal, must be allowed by all beings to be incapable of
dissolution."</p>

<p>"By Jupiter!" he replied, "by all men, indeed, and still more,
as I think, by the gods."</p>

<p>"Since, then, that which is immortal is also incorruptible, <a
class='pagenumber' name='page158' id='page158'></a>can the soul,
since it is immortal, be any thing else than imperishable?"</p>

<p>"It must, of necessity, be so."</p>

<p>"When, therefore, death approaches a man, the mortal part of
him, as it appears, dies, but the immortal part departs safe and
uncorrupted, having withdrawn itself from death?"</p>

<p>"It appears so."</p>

<p>"The soul, therefore," he said, "Cebes, is most certainly
immortal and imperishable, and our souls will really exist in
Hades."</p>

<p>"Therefore, Socrates," he said, "I have nothing further to say
against this, nor any reason for doubting your arguments. But if
Simmias here, or any one else, has any thing to say, it were well
for him not to be silent; for I know not to what other opportunity
beyond the present any one can defer it, who wishes either to speak
or hear about these things."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec129" name=
"phaedo_sec129">129</a>. "But, indeed," said Simmias, "neither have
I any reason to doubt what has been urged; yet, from the magnitude
of the subject discussed, and from my low opinion of human
weakness, I am compelled still to retain a doubt within myself with
respect to what has been said."</p>

<p>"Not only so, Simmias," said Socrates, "but you say this well;
and, moreover, the first hypotheses, even though they are credible
to you, should nevertheless be examined more carefully; and if you
should investigate them sufficiently, I think you will follow my
reasoning as far as it is possible for man to do so; and if this
very point becomes clear, you will inquire no further."</p>

<p>"You speak truly," he said.</p>

<p>"But it is right, my friends," he said, "that we should consider
this&mdash;- that if the soul is immortal, it requires our <a
class='pagenumber' name='page159' id='page159'></a>care not only
for the present time, which we call life, but for all time; and the
danger would now appear to be dreadful if one should neglect it. <a
class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec130" name=
"phaedo_sec130">130</a>. For if death were a deliverance from every
thing, it would be a great gain for the wicked, when they die, to
be delivered at the same time from the body, and from their vices
together with the soul; but now, since it appears to be immortal,
it can have no other refuge from evils, nor safety, except by
becoming as good and wise as possible. For the soul goes to Hades
possessing nothing else than its discipline and education, which
are said to be of the greatest advantage or detriment to the dead,
on the very beginning of his journey thither. For, thus, it is said
that each person's demon who was assigned to him while living, when
he dies conducts him to some place, where they that are assembled
together must receive sentence, and then proceed to Hades with that
guide who has been ordered to conduct them from hence thither. But
there having received their deserts, and having remained the
appointed time, another guide brings them back hither again, after
many and long revolutions of time. The journey, then, is not such
as the Telephus of &AElig;schylus describes it; for he says that a
simple path leads to Hades; but it appears to me to be neither
simple nor one, for there would be no need of guides, nor could any
one ever miss the way, if there were but one. But now it appears to
have many divisions and windings; and this I conjecture from our
religious and funeral rites.<a id="footnotetag40" name=
"footnotetag40" href="#footnote40"><sup>40</sup></a> <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec131" name="phaedo_sec131">131</a>.
The well-ordered and wise soul, then, both follows, and is not
ignorant of its present condition; but that which through passion
clings <a class='pagenumber' name='page160' id='page160'></a>to the
body, as I said before, having longingly fluttered about it for a
long time, and about its visible place,<a id="footnotetag41" name=
"footnotetag41" href="#footnote41"><sup>41</sup></a> after vehement
resistance and great suffering, is forcibly and with great
difficulty led away by its appointed demon. And when it arrives at
the place where the others are, impure and having done any such
thing as the committal of unrighteous murders or other similar
actions, which are kindred to these, and are the deeds of kindred
souls, every one shuns it and turns away from it, and will be
neither its fellow-traveler nor guide; but it wanders about,
oppressed with every kind of helplessness, until certain periods
have elapsed; and when these are completed, it is carried, of
necessity, to an abode suitable to it. But the soul which has
passed through life with purity and moderation, having obtained the
gods for its fellow-travelers and guides, settles each in the place
suited to it. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec132" name=
"phaedo_sec132">132</a>. There are, indeed, many and wonderful
places in the earth, and it is itself neither of such a kind nor of
such a magnitude as is supposed by those who are accustomed to
speak of the earth, as I have been persuaded by a certain
person."</p>

<p>Whereupon Simmias said, "How mean you, Socrates? For I, too,
have heard many things about the earth&mdash;not, however, those
things which have obtained your belief. I would, therefore, gladly
hear them."</p>

<p>"Indeed, Simmias, the art of Glaucus<a id="footnotetag42" name=
"footnotetag42" href="#footnote42"><sup>42</sup></a> does not seem
to me to be required to relate what these things are. That they are
true, however, appears to me more than the art of Glaucus can
prove, and, besides, I should probably not be able to do it; and
even if I did know how, what remains to me of life, Simmias, seems
insufficient for the length of the <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page161' id='page161'></a>subject. However, the form of the earth,
such as I am persuaded it is, and the different places in it,
nothing hinders me from telling."</p>

<p>"But that will be enough," said Simmias.</p>

<p>"I am persuaded, then," said he, "in the first place, that, if
the earth is in the middle of the heavens, and is of a spherical
form, it has no need of air, nor of any other similar force, to
prevent it from falling; but that the similarity of the heavens to
themselves on every side, and the equilibrium of the earth itself,
are sufficient to support it; for a thing in a state of equilibrium
when placed in the middle of something that presses it equally on
all sides can not incline more or less on any side, but, being
equally affected all around, remains unmoved. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec133" name="phaedo_sec133">133</a>. In
the first place, then," he said, "I am persuaded of this."</p>

<p>"And very properly so," said Simmias.</p>

<p>"Yet, further," said he, "that it is very large, and that we who
inhabit some small portion of it, from the river Phasis to the
pillars of Hercules, dwell about the sea, like ants or frogs about
a marsh; and that many others elsewhere dwell in many similar
places, for that there are everywhere about the earth many hollows
of various forms and sizes into which there is a confluence of
water, mist and air; but that the earth itself, being pure, is
situated in the pure heavens, in which are the stars, and which
most persons who are accustomed to speak about such things call
ether; of which these things are the sediment, and are continually
flowing into the hollow parts of the earth. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec134" name="phaedo_sec134">134</a>.
That we are ignorant, then, that we are dwelling in its hollows,
and imagine that we inhabit the upper parts of the earth, just as
if any one dwelling in the bottom of the sea should think that he
dwelt on the sea, and, beholding the sun and the other stars
through the water, should imagine <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page162' id='page162'></a>that the sea was the heavens; but,
through sloth and weakness, should never have reached the surface
of the sea; nor, having emerged and risen up from the sea to this
region, have seen how much more pure and more beautiful it is than
the place where he is, nor has heard of it from any one else who
has seen it. This, then, is the very condition in which we are;
for, dwelling in some hollow of the earth, we think that we dwell
on the surface of it, and call the air heaven, as if the stars
moved through this, being heaven itself. But this is because, by
reason of our weakness and sloth, we are unable to reach to the
summit of the air. Since, if any one could arrive at its summit,
or, becoming winged, could fly up thither, or, emerging from hence,
he would see&mdash;just as with us, fishes, emerging from the sea,
behold what is here, so any one would behold the things there; and
if his nature were able to endure the contemplation, he would know
that that is the true heaven, and the true light, and the true
earth. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec135" name=
"phaedo_sec135">135</a>. For this earth and these stones, and the
whole region here, are decayed and corroded, as things in the sea
by the saltness; for nothing of any value grows in the sea, nor, in
a word, does it contain any thing perfect; but there are caverns
and sand, and mud in abundance, and filth, in whatever parts of the
sea there is earth, nor are they at all worthy to be compared with
the beautiful things with us. But, on the other hand, those things
in the upper regions of the earth would appear far more to excel
the things with us. For, if we may tell a beautiful fable, it is
well worth hearing, Simmias, what kind the things are on the earth
beneath the heavens."</p>

<p>"Indeed, Socrates," said Simmias, "we should be very glad to
hear that fable."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec136" name=
"phaedo_sec136">136</a>. "First of all, then, my friend," he
continued, "this earth, if any one should survey it from above, is
said to have <a class='pagenumber' name='page163' id=
'page163'></a>the appearance of balls covered with twelve different
pieces of leather, variegated and distinguished with colors, of
which the colors found here, and which painters use, are, as it
were, copies. But there the whole earth is composed of such, and
far more brilliant and pure than these; for one part of it is
purple, and of wonderful beauty, part of a golden color, and part
of white, more white than chalk or snow, and, in like manner,
composed of other colors, and those more in number and more
beautiful than any we have ever beheld. And those very hollow parts
of the earth, though filled with water and air, exhibit a certain
species of color, shining among the variety of other colors, so
that one continually variegated aspect presents itself to the view.
In this earth, being such, all things that grow, grow in a manner
proportioned to its nature&mdash;trees, flowers and fruits; and,
again, in like manner, its mountains and stones possess, in the
same proportion, smoothness and transparency, and more beautiful
colors; of which the well-known stones here that are so highly
prized are but fragments, such as sardine-stones, jaspers, and
emeralds, and all of that kind. But there, there is nothing
subsists that is not of this character, and even more beautiful
than these. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec137" name=
"phaedo_sec137">137</a>. But the reason of this is, because the
stones there are pure, and not eaten up and decayed, like those
here, by rottenness and saltness, which flow down hither together,
and which produce deformity and disease in the stones and the
earth, and in other things, even animals and plants. But that earth
is adorned with all these, and, moreover, with gold and silver, and
other things of the kind: for they are naturally conspicuous, being
numerous and large, and in all parts of the earth; so that to
behold it is a sight for the blessed. There are also many other
animals and men upon it, some dwelling in mid-earth, others about
the air, as we do about the sea, and others <a class='pagenumber'
name='page164' id='page164'></a>in islands which the air flows
round, and which are near the continent; and, in one word, what
water and the sea are to us, for our necessities, the air is to
them; and what air is to us, that ether is to them. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec138" name="phaedo_sec138">138</a>.
But their seasons are of such a temperament that they are free from
disease, and live for a much longer time than those here, and
surpass us in sight, hearing, and smelling, and every thing of this
kind, as much as air excels water, and ether air, in purity.
Moreover, they have abodes and temples of the gods, in which gods
really dwell, and voices and oracles, and sensible visions of the
gods, and such-like intercourse with them; the sun, too, and moon,
and stars, are seen by them such as they really are, and their
felicity in other respects is correspondent with these things."</p>

<p>"And, such, indeed, is the nature of the whole earth, and the
parts about the earth; but there are many places all round it
throughout its cavities, some deeper and more open than that in
which we dwell; but others that are deeper have a less chasm than
our region, and others are shallower in depth than it is here, and
broader. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec139" name=
"phaedo_sec139">139</a>. But all these are in many places
perforated one into another under the earth, some with narrower and
some with wider channels, and have passages through, by which a
great quantity of water flows from one into another, as into
basins, and there are immense bulks of ever-flowing rivers under
the earth, both of hot and cold water, and a great quantity of
fire, and mighty rivers of fire, and many of liquid mire, some
purer, and some more miry, as in Sicily there are rivers of mud
that flow before the lava, and the lava itself, and from these the
several places are filled, according as the overflow from time to
time happens to come to each of them. But all these move up and
down, as it were, by a certain oscillation existing in the earth.
And this oscillation proceeds from such <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page165' id='page165'></a>natural cause as this; one of the chasms
of the earth is exceedingly large, and perforated through the
entire earth, and is that which Homer<a id="footnotetag43" name=
"footnotetag43" href="#footnote43"><sup>43</sup></a> speaks of,
'very far off, where is the most profound abyss beneath the earth,'
which elsewhere both he and many other poets have called Tartarus.
For into this chasm all rivers flow together, and from it flow out
again; but they severally derive their character from the earth
through which they flow. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec140" name="phaedo_sec140">140</a>. And the reason why
all streams flow out from thence, and flow into it, is because this
liquid has neither bottom nor base. Therefore, it oscillates and
fluctuates up and down, and the air and the wind around it do the
same; for they accompany it both when it rushes to those parts of
the earth, and when to these. And as in respiration the flowing
breath is continually breathed out and drawn in, so there the wind
oscillating with the liquid causes certain vehement and
irresistible winds both as it enters and goes out. When, therefore,
the water rushing in descends to the place which we call the lower
region, it flows through the earth into the streams there, and
fills them, just as men pump up water. But when again it leaves
those regions and rushes hither, it again fills the rivers here;
and these, when filled, flow through channels and through the
earth, and, having severally reached the several places to which
they are journeying, they make seas, lakes, rivers, and fountains.
<a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec141" name=
"phaedo_sec141">141</a>. Then, sinking again from thence beneath
the earth, some of them having gone round longer and more numerous
places, and others round fewer and shorter, they again discharge
themselves into Tartarus&mdash;some much lower than they were drawn
up, others only a little so; but all of them flow in again beneath
the point at which they flowed out. And some issue out directly
opposite the place <a class='pagenumber' name='page166' id=
'page166'></a>by which they flow in, others on the same side. There
are also some which, having gone round altogether in a circle,
folding themselves once or several times round the earth, like
serpents, when they have descended as low as possible, discharge
themselves again; and it is possible for them to descend on either
side as far as the middle, but not beyond; for in each direction
there is an acclivity to the streams both ways."</p>

<p>"Now, there are many other large and various streams; but among
this great number there are four certain streams, of which the
largest, and that which flows most outwardly round the earth, is
called Ocean; but directly opposite this, and flowing in a contrary
direction, is Acheron, which flows through other desert places,
and, moreover, passing under the earth, reaches the Acherusian
lake, where the souls of most who die arrive; and, having remained
there for certain destined periods, some longer and some shorter,
are again sent forth into the generations of animals. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec142" name="phaedo_sec142">142</a>. A
third river issues midway between these, and, near its source,
falls into a vast region, burning with abundance of fire, and forms
a lake larger than our sea, boiling with water and mud. From hence
it proceeds in a circle, turbulent and muddy, and, folding itself
round it, reaches both other places and the extremity of the
Acherusian lake, but does not mingle with its water; but, folding
itself oftentimes beneath the earth, it discharges itself into the
lower parts of Tartarus. And this is the river which they call
Pyriphlegethon, whose burning streams emit dissevered fragments in
whatever part of the earth they happen to be. Opposite to this,
again, the fourth river first falls into a place dreadful and
savage, as it is said, having its whole color like cyanus:<a id=
"footnotetag44" name="footnotetag44" href=
"#footnote44"><sup>44</sup></a> this they call Stygian, and the
lake which the <a class='pagenumber' name='page167' id=
'page167'></a>river forms by its discharge, Styx. This river,
having fallen in here, and received awful power in the water,
sinking beneath the earth, proceeds, folding itself round, in an
opposite course to Pyriphlegethon, and meets it in the Acherusian
lake from, a contrary direction. Neither does the water of this
river mingle with any other; but it, too, having gone round in a
circle, discharges itself into Tartarus, opposite to
Pyriphlegethon. Its name, as the poets say, is Cocytus."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec143" name=
"phaedo_sec143">143</a>. "These things being thus constituted, when
the dead arrive at the place to which their demon leads them
severally, first of all they are judged, as well those who have
lived well and piously, as those who have not. And those who appear
to have passed a middle kind of life, proceeding to Acheron, and
embarking in the vessels they have, on these arrive at the lake,
and there dwell; and when they are purified, and have suffered
punishment for the iniquities they may have committed, they are set
free, and each receives the reward of his good deeds, according to
his deserts. But those who appear to be incurable, through the
magnitude of their offenses, either from having committed many and
great sacrileges, or many unjust and lawless murders, or other
similar crimes, these a suitable destiny hurls into Tartarus,
whence they never come forth. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec144" name="phaedo_sec144">144</a>. But those who appear
to have been guilty of curable yet great offenses&mdash;such as
those who, through anger, have committed any violence against
father or mother, and have lived the remainder of their life in a
state of penitence, or they who have become homicides in a similar
manner&mdash;these must, of necessity, fall into Tartarus. But
after they have fallen, and have been there for a year, the wave
casts them forth, <a class='pagenumber' name='page168' id=
'page168'></a>the homicides into Cocytus, but the parricides and
matricides into Pyriphlegethon. But when, being borne along, they
arrive at the Acherusian lake, there they cry out to and invoke,
some those whom they slew, others those whom they injured, and,
invoking them, they entreat and implore them to suffer them to go
out into the lake, and to receive them, and if they persuade them,
they go out, and are freed from their sufferings, but if not, they
are borne back to Tartarus, and thence again to the rivers. And
they do not cease from suffering this until they have persuaded
those whom they have injured, for this sentence was imposed on them
by the judges. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec145" name=
"phaedo_sec145">145</a>. But those who are found to have lived an
eminently holy life, these are they who, being freed and set at
large from these regions in the earth as from a prison, arrive at
the pure abode above, and dwell on the upper parts of the earth.
And among these, they who have sufficiently purified themselves by
philosophy shall live without bodies, throughout all future time,
and shall arrive at habitations yet more beautiful than these which
it is neither easy to describe, nor at present is there sufficient
time for the purpose."</p>

<p>"But, for the sake of these things which we have described, we
should use every endeavor, Simmias, so as to acquire virtue and
wisdom in this life, for the reward is noble, and the hope
great."</p>

<p>"To affirm positively, indeed, that these things are exactly as
I have described them does not become a man of sense. That,
however, either this, or something of the kind, takes place with
respect to our souls and their habitations&mdash;since our soul is
certainly immortal&mdash;this appears to me most fitting to be
believed, and worthy the hazard for one who trusts in its reality;
for the hazard is noble, and it is right to allure ourselves with
such things, as with enchantments, <a class='pagenumber' name=
'page169' id='page169'></a>for which reason I have prolonged my
story to such a length. <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec146"
name="phaedo_sec146">146</a>. On account of these things, then, a
man ought to be confident about his soul who, during this life, has
disregarded all the pleasures and ornaments of the body as foreign
from his nature, and who, having thought that they do more harm
than good, has zealously applied himself to the acquirement of
knowledge, and who, having adorned his soul, not with a foreign,
but its own proper ornament&mdash;temperance, justice, fortitude,
freedom, and truth&mdash;thus waits for his passage to Hades, as
one who is ready to depart whenever destiny shall summon him. You,
then," he continued, "Simmias and Cebes, and the rest, will each of
you depart at some future time, but now destiny summons me, as a
tragic writer would say, and it is nearly time for me to betake
myself to the bath, for it appears to me to be better to drink the
poison after I have bathed myself, and not to trouble the women
with washing my dead body."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec147" name=
"phaedo_sec147">147</a>. When he had thus spoken, Crito said, "So
be it, Socrates, but what commands have you to give to these or to
me, either respecting your children, or any other matter, in
attending to which we can most oblige you?"</p>

<p>"What I always say, Crito," he replied, "nothing new that by
taking care of yourselves you will oblige both me and mine, and
yourselves, whatever you do, though you should not now promise it,
and if you neglect yourselves, and will not live, as it were, in
the footsteps of what has been now and formerly said, even though
you should promise much at present, and that earnestly, you will do
no good at all."</p>

<p>"We will endeavor, then, so to do," he said. "But how shall we
bury you?"</p>

<p>"Just as you please," he said, "if only you can catch <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page170' id='page170'></a>me, and I do not
escape from you." <a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec148" name=
"phaedo_sec148">148</a>. And, at the same time smiling gently, and
looking round on us, he said, "I cannot persuade Crito, my friends,
that I am that Socrates who is now conversing with you, and who
methodizes each part of the discourse; but he thinks that I am he
whom he will shortly behold dead, and asks how he should bury me.
But that which I some time since argued at length, that when I have
drunk the poison I shall no longer remain with you, but shall
depart to some happy state of the blessed, this I seem to have
urged to him in vain, though I meant at the same time to console
both you and myself. Be ye, then, my sureties to Crito," he said,
"in an obligation contrary to that which he made to the judges (for
he undertook that I should remain); but do you be sureties that,
when I die, I shall not remain, but shall depart, that Crito may
more easily bear it; and, when he sees my body either burned or
buried, may not be afflicted for me, as if I suffered from some
dreadful thing; nor say at my interment that Socrates is laid out,
or is carried out, or is buried. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec149" name="phaedo_sec149">149</a>. For be well assured,"
he said, "most excellent Crito, that to speak improperly is not
only culpable as to the thing itself, but likewise occasions some
injury to our souls. You must have a good courage, then, and say
that you bury my body, and bury it in such a manner as is pleasing
to you, and as you think is most agreeable to our laws."</p>

<p>When he had said thus, he rose, and went into a chamber to
bathe, and Crito followed him, but he directed us to wait for him.
We waited, therefore, conversing among ourselves about what had
been said, and considering it again, and sometimes speaking about
our calamity, how severe it would be to us, sincerely thinking
that, like those who are deprived of a father, we should pass the
rest of our life as orphans. When he had bathed, and his children
were <a class='pagenumber' name='page171' id='page171'></a>brought
to him (for he had two little sons and one grown up), and the women
belonging to his family were come, having conversed with them in
the presence of Crito, and given them such injunctions as he
wished, he directed the women and children to go away, and then
returned to us. And it was now near sunset; for he spent a
considerable time within. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec150" name="phaedo_sec150">150</a>. But when he came from
bathing he sat down, and did not speak much afterward; then the
officer of the Eleven came in, and, standing near him, said,
"Socrates, I shall not have to find that fault with you that I do
with others, that they are angry with me, and curse me, when, by
order of the archons, I bid them drink the poison. But you, on all
other occasions during the time you have been here, I have found to
be the most noble, meek, and excellent man of all that ever came
into this place; and, therefore, I am now well convinced that you
will not be angry with me (for you know who are to blame), but with
them. Now, then (for you know what I came to announce to you),
farewell, and endeavor to bear what is inevitable as easily as
possible." And at the same time, bursting into tears, he turned
away and withdrew.</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec151" name=
"phaedo_sec151">151</a>. And Socrates, looking after him, said,
"And thou, too, farewell. We will do as you direct." At the same
time turning to us, he said, "How courteous the man is! During the
whole time I have been here he has visited me, and conversed with
me sometimes, and proved the worthiest of men; and now how
generously he weeps for me! But come, Crito, let us obey him, and
let some one bring the poison, if it is ready pounded; but if not,
let the man pound it."</p>

<p>Then Crito said, "But I think, Socrates, that the sun is still
on the mountains, and has not yet set. Besides, I know that others
have drunk the poison very late, after it <a class='pagenumber'
name='page172' id='page172'></a>had been announced to them, and
have supped and drunk freely, and some even have enjoyed the
objects of their love. Do not hasten, then, for there is yet
time."</p>

<p>Upon this Socrates replied, "These men whom you mention, Crito,
do these things with good reason, for they think they shall gain by
so doing; and I, too, with good reason, shall not do so; for I
think I shall gain nothing by drinking a little later, except to
become ridiculous to myself, in being so fond of life, and sparing
of it, when none any longer remains. Go then," he said, "obey, and
do not resist."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec152" name=
"phaedo_sec152">152</a>. Crito, having heard this, nodded to the
boy that stood near. And the boy, having gone out and staid for
some time, came, bringing with him the man that was to administer
the poison, who brought it ready pounded in a cup. And Socrates, on
seeing the man, said, "Well, my good friend, as you are skilled in
these matters, what must I do?"</p>

<p>"Nothing else," he replied, "than, when you have drunk it, walk
about until there is a heaviness in your legs; then lie down: thus
it will do its purpose." And at the same time he held out the cup
to Socrates. And he having received it very cheerfully, Echecrates
neither trembling, nor changing at all in color or countenance,
but, as he was wont, looking steadfastly at the man, said, "What
say you of this potion, with respect to making a libation to any
one, is it lawful or not?"</p>

<p>"We only pound so much, Socrates," he said, "as we think
sufficient to drink."</p>

<p><a class="sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec153" name=
"phaedo_sec153">153</a>. "I understand you," he said; "but it is
certainly both lawful and right to pray to the gods, that my
departure hence thither may be happy; which, therefore, I pray, and
so may it be." And as he said this, he drank it off readily and
calmly. Thus far, most of us were with difficulty able <a class=
'pagenumber' name='page173' id='page173'></a>to restrain ourselves
from weeping; but when we saw him drinking, and having finished the
draught, we could do so no longer; but, in spite of myself, the
tears came in full torrent, so that, covering my face, I wept for
myself; for I did not weep for him, but for my own fortune, in
being deprived of such a friend. But Crito, even before me, when he
could not restrain his tears, had risen up. <a class=
"sectionnumber" id="phaedo_sec154" name="phaedo_sec154">154</a>.
But Apollodorus, even before this, had not ceased weeping; and
then, bursting into an agony of grief, weeping and lamenting, he
pierced the heart of every one present, except Socrates himself.
But he said, "What are you doing, my admirable friends? I, indeed,
for this reason chiefly, sent away the women, that they might not
commit any folly of this kind. For I have heard that it is right to
die with good omens. Be quiet, therefore, and bear up."</p>

<p>When we heard this, we were ashamed, and restrained our tears.
But he, having walked about, when he said that his legs were
growing heavy, lay down on his back; for the man had so directed
him. And, at the same time, he who gave the poison taking hold of
him, after a short interval, examined his feet and legs; and then,
having pressed his foot hard, he asked if he felt it: he said that
he did not. And after this he pressed his thighs; and, thus going
higher, he showed us that he was growing cold and stiff. Then
Socrates touched himself, and said that when the poison reached his
heart he should then depart. <a class="sectionnumber" id=
"phaedo_sec155" name="phaedo_sec155">155</a>. But now the parts
around the lower belly were almost cold; when, uncovering himself,
for he had been covered over, he said (and they were his last
words), "Crito, we owe a cock to &AElig;sculapius; pay it,
therefore; and do not neglect it."</p>

<p>"It shall be done," said Crito; "but consider whether you have
any thing else to say."</p>

<p>To this question he gave no reply; but, shortly after, he <a
class='pagenumber' name='page174' id='page174'></a>gave a
convulsive movement, and the man covered him, and his eyes were
fixed; and Crito, perceiving it, closed his mouth and eyes.</p>

<p>This, Echecrates, was the end of our friend,&mdash;a man, as we
may say, the best of all of his time that we have known, and,
moreover, the most wise and just.</p>

<h3>Footnotes</h3>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote25" name="footnote25" href=
"#footnotetag25">25</a>: Phlius, to which Echecrates belonged, was
a town of Sicyonia, in Peloponnesus.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote26" name="footnote26" href=
"#footnotetag26">26</a>: A Pythagorean of Crotona.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote27" name="footnote27" href=
"#footnotetag27">27</a>: Namely, "that it is better to die than to
live."</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote28" name="footnote28" href=
"#footnotetag28">28</a>: <span class=
"greek">&#7993;&tau;&tau;&omega;</span>, Boetian for <span class=
"greek">&#7985;&omicron;&tau;&omega;</span>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote29" name="footnote29" href=
"#footnotetag29">29</a>: Of Pythagoras.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote30" name="footnote30" href=
"#footnotetag30">30</a>: Some boyish spirit.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote31" name="footnote31" href=
"#footnotetag31">31</a>: That is, at a time of life when the body
is in full vigor.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote32" name="footnote32" href=
"#footnotetag32">32</a>: In the original there is a play on the
words <span class="greek">&#7945;&iota;&delta;&eta;&sigmaf;</span>
and <span class=
"greek">&#7937;&epsilon;&#7985;&delta;&eta;&sigmaf;</span>, which I
can only attempt to retain by departing from the usual rendering of
the former word.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote33" name="footnote33" href=
"#footnotetag33">33</a>: By this I understand him to mean that the
soul alone can perceive the truth, but the senses, as they are
different, receive and convey different impressions of the same
thing; thus, the eye receives one impression of an object, the ear
a totally different one.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote34" name="footnote34" href=
"#footnotetag34">34</a>: <span class="greek">&kappa;&alpha;&iota;
&alpha;&#8017;&theta;&iota;&sigmaf;
&epsilon;&tau;&epsilon;&rho;&omicron;&sigmaf; &kappa;&alpha;&iota;
&epsilon;&tau;&epsilon;&rho;&omicron;&sigmaf;</span>, that is,
"with one argument after another" Though Cousin translates it <span
class="french">et successivement tout different de luimeme</span>
and Ast, <span class="latin">et rursus alia atque alia</span>,
which may be taken in either sense, yet it appears to me to mean
that, when a man repeatedly discovers the fallacy of arguments
which he before believed to be true, he distrusts reasoning
altogether, just as one who meets with friend after friend who
proves unfaithful becomes a misanthrope.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote35" name="footnote35" href=
"#footnotetag35">35</a>: Lib. xx, v. 7.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote36" name="footnote36" href=
"#footnotetag36">36</a>: Harmony was the wife of Cadmus, the
founder of Thebes; Socrates, therefore, compares his two Theban
friends, Simmias and Cebes, with them, and says that, having
overcome Simmias, the advocate of Harmony, he must now deal with
Cebes, who is represented by Cadmus.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote37" name="footnote37" href=
"#footnotetag37">37</a>: <span class=
"greek">&epsilon;&#7985;&nu;&alpha;&iota; &tau;&iota;</span>,
literally, "is something."</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote38" name="footnote38" href=
"#footnotetag38">38</a>: That is, to single.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote39" name="footnote39" href=
"#footnotetag39">39</a>: Sec. <a href=
"#phaedo_sec113">113</a>.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote40" name="footnote40" href=
"#footnotetag40">40</a>: It is difficult to express the distinction
between <span class="greek">&omicron;&sigma;&iota;&alpha;</span>
and <span class="greek">&nu;&omicron;&mu;&iota;&mu;&alpha;</span>.
The former word seems to have reference to the souls of the dead;
the latter, to their bodies.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote41" name="footnote41" href=
"#footnotetag41">41</a>: Its place of interment.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote42" name="footnote42" href=
"#footnotetag42">42</a>: A proverb meaning "a matter of great
difficulty."</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote43" name="footnote43" href=
"#footnotetag43">43</a>: "Iliad," lib. viii., v. 14.</div>

<div class="footnote"><a id="footnote44" name="footnote44" href=
"#footnotetag44">44</a>: A metallic substance of a deep-blue color,
frequently mentioned by the earliest Grecian writers, but of which
the nature is unknown.</div>
</div>







<pre>





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